#COULD I have waited the five short remaining days before thinking about my beloveds?

[shoutogepi]

A Million Times Over, part 2

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𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Todoroki Shouto x American!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 6.4k 

[ ☀︎, ☁︎, ✘ (nsfw!) ] (series warnings)

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : NSFW references (no explicit smut this chapter)

𝐛𝐢𝐨 : You lose all memories from the past five years of your life due to an accident-induced coma, including any recollection of your beloved boyfriend and fellow pro-hero, Shouto. He’s devastated that you don’t remember him, but the both of you are determined to get your memories back, no matter how long it takes. In the meantime, you attempt to rebuild your relationship with him… while also nurturing the spark that’s still very much lit between you two.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : Yaaaaaa babie so part 2 is finally finished! I’m wicked excited to finish the series next chapter and ughhh the smut is gonna be so good omg. Just wait. 

𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : shout out to @shotoh for beta-reading this for me, what a saint <3 

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─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

🄸t was warm.

There was something heavy on your middle, but it didn’t feel like a nuisance— it was a welcome weight, one that somehow made comfort seep from your chest and fill the rest of your body with a quiet sense of peace. You hummed as sleep’s grasp on you lightened, the cogs in your mind beginning to turn. The hospital bed had never been this comfortable before, and the acrid smell of antiseptic and bustle of the doctors outside your door was peculiarly absent. Instead, a pleasant scent of laundry and cologne lingered on your pillowcase, making the corners of your mouth pull up in a droopy smile.

Your eyes opened as you recalled where you were, and whose arms you were lying in— whose gentle breaths blew at your hair and tickled the shell of your ear. Letting out a slow exhale, you blinked the sleep from your eyes, legs attempting to move, only to find them tangled with the muscled calves of your bedmate who, you prayed to whatever divine presence that was out there, was still asleep.

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However, when you tried to move away, a low groan sounded in your ear, scattering the stray hairs that laid out of place there. Like a sleeping bear, the arm around your waist curled around you tighter, pressing your entire body directly against the hard contour of his. You swallowed, blinking owlishly as you tried not to think about the sizeable semi-hardness poking into your backside, nor the rough fingertips that splayed out on the smooth expanse of your stomach at the bottom of your shirt, the very pinky dipping under the waistband of your sleep shorts and panties, palm warming your skin just enough to make your heart awaken for the day.

Your breath was caught in your throat, and you didn’t dare move another inch. Even if you didn’t have your memories of the man you shared your life with for the past few years, the moments the two of you had shared throughout the past week were enough to have butterflies fluttering to life in your stomach. The feeling of simply being in his arms, tucked under the sheets and cocooned in his warmth and his scent, it all had your body feeling like it was at peace.

At home.

Shouto’s hand was lying open beside your face, his arm tucked underneath your neck as he must’ve fallen asleep spooning you, and not since shifted away throughout the night. His fingers twitched in his sleep just slightly, and you took the moment to admire the long, slender digits. For a man of his size and stature, they were surprisingly thin, almost as if in another life he could have tickled piano keys for a living. But they were also marred with scars and calluses from his herowork— none open nor recent, seeing as he had taken the last month off to watch over you. Reaching for his hand, you traced the lines on his palm, trailing your fingertips over his skin and finding yourself lost in thought. You wondered if this was how you usually slept, if this was what you woke up to every day…

If that was your reality, you would happily accept it.

Being in Shouto’s arms made you feel safe, protected from the troubles of life. You already harbored silly feelings for him before you had even met him, and now that you had, those feelings had only been amplified, each day spent with him a catalyst to the reaction he triggered in your heart.

You bit your lip, twisting your spine so you could look at him. Holding your breath as you finally laid eyes on him, you took your time to admire him in all his slumbered glory. Your eyes loitered on his high cheekbones, the sharp angle of his jawline, and then the placid expression he donned while he slept, not plagued with the usual lacing of concern that he wore throughout the day. He was so… handsome. In all his hardened, heroic glory, he still managed to look like a prince straight out of every little girl’s storybook. And he certainly had the body to go with it as well— the fruits of his training on full display for you as you marveled at his naked chest.

Your heart leapt into your throat when he stirred, his arm around your waist coming to rub at his tired eyes. Watching his grey eye open slightly, your breath caught at the crooked grin that blossomed on his lips when he locked eyes with you.

“Mmm morning princess,” he rumbled, hand landing on your stomach to push your body backwards into his. He didn’t mind the little squeak of surprise you let out, nuzzling his face into your neck and slinging his leg across your hips once he flattened them onto the mattress. Your face felt like it was on fire, his morning… problem pressed firmly against your back now as he moaned in content, scattering lazy kisses across your throat.

You gasped when his hand on your stomach suddenly jumped up to grope your breast over your shirt, his fingers kneading tenderly as tingles fired across your nerves. It felt good to be receiving his unbridled affection— too good, really, as he started to suck at your neck. Your body cried out for his touch but you had barely even kissed last night— this was too much, too fast.

“Sh-Shouto!”

He paused, head rearing back as he detected the urgency in your voice, sleepy eyes locking with yours with his brows furrowed underneath his frazzled bed-head. It took him a moment before his eyes widened and horror replaced the slumber that had impeded his judgement before, his body jumping to the other side of the bed instantly as his cheeks flushed a bright pink. “I— I’m so sorry, Y/n, fuck— I didn’t…” he stammered, embarrassment evident as the pink turned to red, little flames sprouting on the left side of his head while his eyes flew about, unable to meet your gaze.

You instantly felt guilty, his demeanor apologetic. It was clear that he was frustrated with himself. “It’s okay, I’m not mad, I was just… it was just, um, unexpected?” you tried to laugh but it came out sounding more like a choke.

“Damn it…” Shouto mumbled, his hands coming to drag across his face morosely. The flames that licked at his side sizzled out, indicating that he was no longer so much shocked as he was contrite. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, muffled by his hands that still occupied his face. “It was just… I forgot for a second and... I didn’t mean to— to, well, come onto you. God, I’m sorry.”

You watched him for a second, your heart suddenly heavy with the sadness that leaked from his choice of words. For the first time in a long time, he had woken up with you in his arms, and he had forgotten about the absolute shitstorm of the month he’d had. That was probably how he acted when he woke up normally, as your sweet and loving boyfriend— showering you in affection was his first instinct of the day, and there was nothing wrong with that.

“It’s really okay, Sho. I was just surprised,” you peeped, trying to relieve him of some of the stress that he was so apparently harboring. “It’s not like I hated it…”

Shouto processed your words for a moment before one hand rose from his face, his brow contorted into a mix between accusatory and suggestive. There was a hint of a smile threatening to bloom on his lips, but he remained silent as he stared at you.

“I just meant that— well… we could lay here for a bit before we get up for the day. If… If that’s our usual routine or, if you would be interested in that!” You could feel your face getting hot now, the embarrassment transferring from him to you.

But Shouto chose not to tease you, instead scooting back over to you in the middle of the bed. “You always did like your morning cuddles,” he said, mouth turning at the corners into a smirk.

“Whatever, just— just keep your third leg to yourself, okay? Arms only!” You shared a quick look with him, the both of you shocked that you had really just said that.

But Shouto followed your request, flipping so he laid on his belly before his arm hooked out to bring you into his side, nose pressing up against your ear as you were on your back. The butterflies were back and busy again in your stomach— his touch just did something to you, it was both exhilarating and infuriating when he had hardly done anything. 

“Never heard that one before,” he murmured lowly, snark lurking in his voice. “You’re usually quite fond of my third leg, dear.”

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The rest of the morning went more according to plan. After a considerable amount of time lying in the sheets with Shouto cuddling into your side, you finally parted ways and went about getting ready for the day. There was a sense of giddiness pumping through your veins as your boyfriend left you stationed in front of your closet, mumbling something about preparation before you headed out.

Mostly, you were looking forward to going on your date. But then, there was also the surprised excitement that came from the sight of your walk-in closet, complete with rows of neatly organized clothes and a built-in wall with shelves and drawers, even a glass display case full of glittering jewels and gems in designs all tailored to your taste. You took a moment to pat yourself on the back. Not only did you seem to have the man of your dreams, but you had also attained your dream closet? If this was truly a dream, you most definitely did not want to wake up.

It took you an absurdly long amount of time to piece together your outfit. It was partially because you stopped to ogle at pretty much every hanger you rifled through, and partially because you were completely unsure of what clothes Shouto particularly enjoyed seeing you in. There was a sneaking suspicion that his preference was for you to not be clothed at all… but it wasn’t like you could go out on your date in your birthday suit. And, that would mean exposing your bare body to him, and you weren’t sure if you were ready for that just yet.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t insanely attracted to him— because you definitely were. Just, the situation you were in was a delicate one, and when you did decide to indulge in the physicalities of your relationship, it would be after you had no more questions to ask him. You just weren’t quite there yet.

So, you decided on a pair of dark jeans and a flowy blouse that showcased your shoulders, matching the color of your shoes, belt, and purse. After a quick makeup routine, you chose to spruce up the outfit with a little jewelry, seeing as you had quite an ample selection to choose from. A shiny pair of hoops for your ears came easily enough, but you struggled to find a necklace which would pull everything together. Your eyes wandered over the chains of gold and silver, some shining with bright gems and some intricate enough with just the curve of the metal. It was then that you noticed a simple but very elegant necklace, its blue-topaz pendant catching your gaze. As you inspected the glittering stone, a warm feeling pooled in your chest, and you found your fingers reaching for the jewelry without thought. There was something special about this necklace, but what, exactly, you couldn’t identify.

It was incredibly frustrating. This was the closest you had come to remembering anything since you had woken up a week ago… and while it was certainly progress, it was infuriating to have the recollection dangling just barely out of your reach. You stared at the brilliant cyan gem for another moment before deciding that you weren’t going to remember based on willpower alone, securing the clasp around your neck. If that were the case, then you would have your memory back already, you were sure. You left the room with your shoes in hand, sock-clad feet padding quietly against the shiny hardwood floors while a sour taste dwelled on the back of your tongue.

Yet somehow, the second your eyes met Shouto’s, the feeling of self-loathing was instantly quelled, replaced with a pleasant wave of some feeling you couldn’t quite put your finger on. His eyes had locked onto the stone around your neck right as you walked into the kitchen, and immediately a smile graced his lips as he found your gaze.

You couldn’t help but return one, your eyes flickering to the floor before returning to him, overwhelmed with the tingles that zipped through you. He hadn’t really given you the chance to take in the outfit he had chosen before he left you to dress, and you found yourself appreciating the soft, cream sweater that fell just over his denim-clad hips.

“Wow, you look…” his eyes trailed down your form and then back up, his smile just as full. He let out a soft laugh, head tilting back before his attention returned to you, as if he didn’t quite believe the sight in front of him. “Beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

You already knew you looked good, but still, hearing the compliment roll off his tongue made your stomach leap up beside your heart. “Thank you, Sho. You look beautiful, too,” you teased, trying to downplay the effect his words had on you.

Even though his cheeks dusted with a light pink, his expression remained unchanged, gaze dropping to the pendant resting in the middle of your chest again. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but he held his tongue.

Just as you were about to tell him about the feeling you’d gotten earlier, he turned and grabbed some things from the counter behind him, whisking them into his arms. There was a curious look you shot him as you examined the numerous hats he offered to you, one of your brows rising at the variety.

Shouto didn’t give you the chance to ask, launching into explanation without your prompt. “You and I are technically celebrities. So it’s best if we conceal our faces while we’re out in public.” His gaze dropped to the brim of the gray suede boater in his hand, his thumb trailing across the soft material. “I don’t want you ambushed today. The public has missed you while you’ve been out of commission, so if we’re spotted, I’ll have to share you… and I don’t think either of us is ready for that quite yet.”

You nodded, ignoring the giddiness that bloomed in the depths of your stomach at his choice of words. Reaching for a floppy hat, your fingers brushed over his sweater as you grabbed your choice of camouflage. The fit was snug around your head, the silky ribbon tied around the crown the perfect match to your shoes. Shouto put on his hat as well, making sure to tuck the white half of his hair up and out of sight, giving him a faux monochromatic appearance. He wordlessly handed you a pair of large sunglasses, which you slid onto your face without protest. He mirrored your action, choosing a dark pair of aviators that helped disguise his famous scar.

“How do I look?” You asked, doing a little spin for full emphasis. The movement put a little smile on Shouto’s face, his eyes roaming your figure leisurely before he offered a thumbs up.

“Enchanting as always, love,” he replied stoically, the suavity and candor of his response aiding to the warm, swirling feeling in your stomach. But his expression morphed into a playful smirk, eyes twinkling with mischief. “What about me?”

A laugh trickled out of you as he copied your twirl, his execution somehow more graceful than yours. His pink lips curled into a genuine smile at your giggle, ending his mock demonstration in a curtsey. This only caused you to swat at him in exaggeration, taking the first steps towards the door.

“Equally enchanting,” you replied, not a hint of a lie in your voice. Your conviction made Shouto stutter, his grin melting to a flustered purse of the lip. It was then that you took his hand decisively, chuckling as you placed a swift kiss to his cheek. “Ready to go.”

It took him a moment to buffer, but he quickly recovered, a warm flush coloring his cheeks as his fingers squeezed yours. The digits of his other hand curled around the small of your waist, guiding you through the door.

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Your eyes widened as Shouto pulled the sleek car into the parking space, your surroundings somewhat familiar. When you had asked where he was taking you, he hadn’t revealed any clues, preferring to give a vague “someplace you’ll enjoy” before effectively killing the conversation. You probably should’ve expected it, but surprise overtook you as you turned the sidewalk corner and there stood the cat cafe the pair of you had passed on your way back from the hospital just yesterday.

When you turned to look at Shouto, his eyes were already inspecting your reaction, the excitement written obviously all over your face. He regarded you with a quiet, knowing smile as he opened the door for you, the bell tinkling overhead and the quiet mewls of kittens further inside distinctly ringing in your ears. Right as you stepped inside, a fluffy, smoosh-face cat curled around your ankles, brushing and sniffing at you in greeting. Shouto made a joke about the fluffy beast being the cutest host he’d ever seen, his smile only growing when you laughed in return.

Once you were seated, tucked in a comfy pair of chairs in the corner of the cafe, a waitress came over to take your orders. What took you by surprise was that Shouto ordered for you— the exact confection and drink you were eyeing when you peeked at the menu. He shot you a little smirk at the cuteness of your impressed expression, asking if you’d like to add anything and turning the staff person's attention to you. At your denial, they excused themself, leaving you alone with Shouto once more.

There was a palpable tension in the air between the two of you. Unbeknownst to you, the other cafe goers could practically see the sparks flying between you.

“So… do we come here a lot?” you inquired, taking a tentative sip of your ice water and training your eyes on the top button of his shirt. It was just too intense to stare him straight in the eye sometimes…

Shouto took a moment to reply, looking through his red and white bangs at you fondly, leaning back in his chair before shaking his head. “Truthfully, we’ve never been here before.” He gauged the surprise in your eyes, a little knowing smile resting on his plump lip before he continued. “You always wanted to try this place but we hadn’t gotten around to it… you even picked out the food you wanted in case we came. I hope your tastes remain unchanged? If I ordered something you don’t want, I’ll call the waiter over.”

It was then your turn to shake your head, a quick and decisive answer. “No, you got it right,” you reassured, hands wringing slowly underneath the table in your lap. “The only other thing I wanted to try was the drink you ordered, so it’s fine!”

“Have as much as you like,” he suavely suggested, his tone sounding more like a demand than an offer. Just as he focused his eyes on yours, he was interrupted by a fuzzy orange kitten jumping into his lap, settling into a tiny loaf across his thighs and staring up at him expectantly.

You and Shouto both buffered for a moment before you let out a laugh at the sight of such a tiny creature in your broad boyfriend’s embrace. Shouto began to chuckle too, giving the creature a little scratch under the chin. The kitten meowed happily in agreement, placing its head onto its paws and settling in for a nap. You let the comfortable silence last for a minute before you meandered back into conversation.

“So um, earlier, when we were getting ready to go out…,” your fingers absentmindedly wandered to the pendant resting in the middle of your collar bones. “I saw this necklace in my closet and I felt like it was… important? And then I thought I caught you looking at it earlier too maybe? Do you know if it has any significant meaning or anything?”

Shouto’s gaze remained on the cat in his lap for another moment before it flicked over to you, and once again, you were stunned by the amount of emotion in his mismatched eyes. “I gave it to you,” he answered, his free hand fiddling with the sunglasses that now hung in the middle of his shirt collar. “It was for our first anniversary.”

You didn't really know what to make of that, the newfound knowledge resonating through you as you tried to remember anything about that day at all.

“I chose that color because you said you loved it… the color of my eyes. Or— eye— I suppose,” he gestured to the piercing cerulean orb that rested on his hot side, standing out even more against the muddled skin of his scar.

Your head nodded as you processed his answer, your finger nudging at the handle of your cutlery absentmindedly. “You do have nice eyes,” you mumbled, your veins pumping with a warmth you'd come to recognize as his natural effect on you.

Shouto smiled at that, his gaze focused on the pendant gleaming in the sun’s gentle caress. You could feel the intensity of his eyes there in the center of your chest, the modest amount of exposed cleavage feeling hot under his inspection.

At his silence, you continued on, your flusteredness forcing your mouth to move without much reason. “And— you have great taste in jewelry too, I mean, this is really beautiful.”

“It suits you,” he replied instantly, as if such words required no thought whatsoever.

That just made your cheeks feel even hotter, and a surprised chuckle sounded past your lips, his compliment egging on the butterfly swarm in your belly. “Thank you… I’m glad you have enough rationale to avoid a cheesy heart with your name on it or something.”

Shouto’s eyes fleed yours at that, taking a tentative sip of his water. You watched his pink lips curl into a subtle, knowing smirk. He yelped when you kicked his ankle underneath the table, gaze returning to you. He regarded your inquisitorial expression for a moment before he shrugged, his cheeks tinged with the lightest of pinks. “I have actually given you something like that before…”

You bit your lip, now wanting to kick yourself for making fun of the sweet yet idiotic, classic boyfriend gift. Heart jewelry, of course…

“And you really liked it… maybe almost as much as me,” he finished, and you watched as his blush deepened a few shades.

The waiter chose that moment to deliver your drinks, the conversation halting awkwardly before they took their leave once again.

“I really liked it?” You parroted, perplexed. There was no way you would find such a cheesy gift endearing enough to actually enjoy it.

Shouto adjusted himself in his chair, clearing his throat awkwardly. His eyes once again couldn’t meet yours, his fingertips tapping on the edge of the table. “Yeah it— it’s an anklet… it um, has my initials on the charm…” he mumbled, suddenly shy. “You seem to enjoy wearing it when we… when I— when I take you.”

“Oh.”

Your face felt on fire, neither of you brave enough to look each other in the eye following his confession. There wasn’t much you knew about your sex life with Shouto— though you assumed it to be very much alive, and healthily so— but just by the way he phrased that, your thighs were clenching together at the image your brain so kindly painted you.

Shouto was a big, strong man… one who was very proportional, as you recalled from the incident that occurred this morning. The thought of him taking you made your insides squirm with interest, fluttering at the premise of being stretched around him. You took another sip of your drink before the food thankfully arrived, allowing the pair of you to drop the conversation.

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After you finished eating, Shouto took you to the trader’s market around the corner. There were people crowding the streets and trickling through the crosswalks, even though it was a late morning on a Friday and most of the population should’ve been busying away at their jobs. The bustle of the city should’ve been overwhelming for you— Shouto kept you close to his side at all times, his gaze scrutinizing any looks that lasted too long toward your direction.  And yet, you were having a blast, flittering about and exploring the vendors’ stands and the numerous trinket stalls that lined the busy square. His hand was always holding yours. Even when you got more invested in the items on display before you, his fingers would linger at your waist, making his relationship to you apparent to any bystanders.

Sunlight streamed down in between the tall buildings surrounding you, reflecting off the windows like mirrors and making you grateful for the shade of your hat. That made you extra thankful for the ghost of Shouto’s hand across your skin, welcoming the coolness exuding off of his right side. There was a light-hearted conversation between the pair of you, and many grannies waved you over to inspect their merchandise by calling out to the pair of lovebirds. The repeated label made Shouto puff up in pride, aiding him to stand tall and retain the advantage he had on you in terms of height.

Whenever your gaze lingered on something for a second too long, Shouto was instantly handing bills over to the merchants, insisting they take the change or at least tipping them appreciatively. By the time the two of you had visited every stall, numerous bags hung from his left arm, all precariously stacked so the fingers on his other hand could remain laced with yours.

He noticed your wary gaze on the bags, your expression giving your thoughts away immediately. “Don’t worry love,” he reassured, squeezing your fingers in his, “they’re no trouble at all.” At your attempt to grab a few and lessen the load, he pivoted and held them above your head. He frowned, keeping them out of reach as you continued your attempt, swatting at him gently.

“Just let me have one at least,” you pouted, your voice morphing into a little whine. That got him to grin, conceding and handing you the smallest, lightest bag of the bunch. He feigned ignorance when you shot him a playful glare in response, choosing now to steer you toward another topic instead.

“Would it ruin the date if we stopped by my office? I just need to drop off the folders I finished up last night, and the building is just a block over. It should only take a minute.”

You shook your head, shrugging your shoulders. “Sure,” you agreed, allowing his fingers to slip back into yours. Having your hand in his felt natural to you, the warmth of his skin welcomed. “I want to see your agency, anyway!”

It was a short walk to his workplace, as promised. The building was one of the tallest in the surrounding area, with sleek windows paneling all sides and reflecting the orange light of the barely-setting sun. The security guards didn’t bother the pair of you, Shouto acknowledging them with a nod as he slipped off his disguise. The elevator opened and Shouto flashed his badge at the sensor, then pushed the button for one of the floors higher up in the building.

In no time at all, the doors opened again and he led you past the couple secretaries that were perched behind their desks. You could feel their eyes glued to your back, and you were sure that the second you were safely located behind the glass doors to the hallway, they’d launch into discussion. The thought slipped your mind as you came round the corner, Shouto guiding you through the nearest door and ushering you into a large sitting room. Two doors were situated on either side of the room, long glass walls dividing the quarters. One door led to Shouto’s office, as designated by the nearby nameplate. The other you were about to read just as it opened, and a familiar, sharp-toothed redhead bounded toward the pair of you.

Immediately you grinned, ripping your hand from Shouto’s as you launched yourself at the famed Red Riot, one of Japan’s finest heroes lifting you off your feet in an enthusiastic embrace. Your laughs echoed around the room, Kirishima’s chuckles following as he spun you around. Shouto watched silently, a small frown adorning his lip while your gleeful laughs met his ears. He hadn’t heard such a sound in what seemed like forever, and even though he was not the cause of it, he couldn’t help but relish in it.

After a moment, Kirishima put you down and pulled Shouto in for a quick half-hug, patting him on the shoulder as his eyes then returned to you. “Well look who it is,” he grinned, his pointy teeth on display, hands landing on his narrow hips. “It’s so good to see you up and about, Y/n.”

“It’s good to see you too, Kiri,” you mirrored his expression, taking in his appearance.

Shouto watched your eyes rove over him, a sour taste developing at the back of his tongue. You had recognized Kirishima immediately— fondly, even— when it had taken hard work and ample time for you to warm up to him. It had taken a week for you to call him by his usual nickname, and yet, you called Kirishima by his own instantly. He could feel himself turning green at the realization, his frown remaining as his eyes sharpened in scrutiny.

“Wow,” you exclaimed after you had fully appraised the hero, even taking in the scarlet costume that had been updated since the last time you’d seen him. “You look great! Five years has really done you well, hmm? You’re totally ripped. Last time I saw you I swear you were shorter!”

Kirishima laughed and toed at the ground bashfully— never one to handle compliments very well. “Ah, thanks Y/n… gotta stay in shape when your costume has you shirtless all day, right?”

Shouto couldn’t help the envy that rose up inside of him as he watched you chatter eagerly with his coworker… even though he knew you had no control of what memories you lost, it still stung to watch you engage with and compliment another man. Especially when he hadn’t received such easy affection from you in much too long.

“You look much better, too,” Kirishima continued, glancing at Shouto as he picked up on the temperature drop in the room. Somehow you didn’t seem to notice the frost gathering on Shouto’s wrist as a result of his displeasure.  “Erm— last time I saw you was in the hospital when you were still in your coma. I was so relieved to hear you woke up! Then I figured it would be easier for you if you didn’t have any visitors, though… that’s what your f— um, Shouto said would be best, anyway.”  

At the mention of his name, you glanced at the half-and-half man beside you, shooting him a thankful smile that had his heart fluttering and his jealousy waning. He cleared his throat and nodded, casting a forced smile at the other hero. “Yes, well… I have to step into my office quickly, would you entertain her for a moment?”

Kirishima opened his mouth to reply, but Shouto was already halfway through the door, leaving the pair of you slightly stunned. You could see him through the glass wall, eyes following him and wondering why his curt attitude left a bitter taste in your mouth.

“So um…” The redhead turned to look at you, prompting you to do the same. “You really lost all your memories of him?”

The question hit you like he had dunked you in ice cold water, and you stiffened up immediately. Kirishima panicked then, eyes growing wide and covering his mouth.

“I can’t believe I just blurted that out— I just… You guys are so in love, I can’t imagine you two not together,” he explained earnestly, his brow furrowed. His honesty made your stomach burst with butterflies, the premise of being loved by Shouto and being able to love him made you feel flustered as hell.

“We are together,” you clarified, and Kirishima nodded. “Just not as together as before, I guess? It’s just… he makes me feel so many things and I barely know him. But he knows me? Like, intimately. It feels like he knows me more than I know myself sometimes. I dunno, it’s just… complicated, Kiri.”

He smiled in understanding, eyes sympathetic as you spilled your troubles to him. It was nice talking to someone who wasn’t Shouto— as much as you liked him, talking to him was difficult because he made you fumble with your words. You said things you didn’t mean to say when you were with him. Kirishima continued, “If there’s one thing I know, it’s that you guys are crazy in love. Like, you’re the couple I aspire to be in some day.”

You grabbed his hand and grinned at that, his sincerity making your heart melt. “Awe, Kiri… It’s good to see you haven’t changed from how I remember you. You’re still the sweetest.”

Kirishima laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Just be yourself with him… I think it’ll put you both at ease. You’re really good for each other— he was devastated the whole time you were asleep.”

The admission made a lump appear in your throat, your eyes feeling glassy all the sudden.

“He hasn’t acted this frigid since his high school days… Long before he met you. I think you make him feel relaxed. I mean, that’s how he always looks when he’s with you, or thinking about you. I can tell when we’re on patrol and he’s daydreaming about you, ‘cus he’ll just walk right into a lamp pole.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the image, cursing the timing when the door opened and Shouto stepped out, his eyes landing on you and then hardening as they moved to Kirishima. He stepped toward him, but you intercepted him and laced your arms around his middle instead, stopping him with your embrace.

Shouto faltered at the sudden display of affection, his cheeks growing hot as he locked gazes with Kirishima, his eyes then dropping to the top of your head as you hid your face in his chest. He was frozen mid-breath, completely still as you held him. His cool, clean scent swallowed you as you kept your head nuzzled into his front, his fingers limp as your hand found his.

With a small step back, you ceased your embrace, your fingers squeezing his tightly as your eyes captured his and you gave him a shy smile. His cheeks only darkened, the grimace that had occupied his face long gone and instead replaced with an awed blankness. His lips parted and moved pointlessly, as if he wanted to say something but no sound escaped him.

“It was nice catching up Kiri,” you said, eyes still locked with Shouto’s heterochromatic ones before you turned to the red hero, who was awkwardly looking to the side as he shuffled his weight between his feet.

Kirishima looked at you and laughed awkwardly once again. You began to exit with Shouto in tow behind you, the hero’s crimson gaze following the pair of you. “Ah, yeah, you too! Let’s meet up soon!”

Then the glass door closed, and you were once again in the vicinity of the secretaries' blatant gawking. You pointedly ignored them as you strode toward the elevator, with their soundlessly boss still trailing behind you. As you waited for the elevator to ascend to your floor, you caught Shouto looking at you funny in your peripheral vision. Yet when you turned to look at him, he only reached out and pulled you into his chest.

Caught by surprise, a meek noise slipped out of you before you collided with his pecs once again, his arms wrapping around you to secure you in place. He nuzzled into your hair and inhaled deeply, uncaring of the secretaries' stares.

Only when the elevator arrived did he pull away, to guide you inside and away from the prying eyes. When the doors were closed, he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on the crest of your cheek, a wisp of his peppermint-laced breath cooling your skin just as heat rushed there from his lips.

“Let’s go home, love,” Shouto murmured against your skin, knuckles nudging yours before your fingers curled around his. You nodded, holding his arm with your free hand and coming to stand by his side as the elevator rushed toward the ground. A peaceful moment of silence fell upon you and Shouto, giving you time for contemplation.

Any sane woman would've taken one look at Kirishima and felt at least a pinch of interest twirl inside her stomach. He was caring and handsome as they come, and yet he did absolutely nothing for you. Somehow when you were confronted with his chiseled abs and warm gaze, you felt less than when Shouto even glanced at you. You concluded that your body was definitely in love with him… and your heart longed to be the same. But part of you still had questions that needed to be resolved before you could really give yourself to him… and little did he know, you would find the answers to said questions so soon.

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

.

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ahh i love this sho so much, he’s trying so hard... poor babie 🥺 next part i will be much kinder to him <3 if you enjoyed please be sure to reblog and or leave me a comment •ᴥ• 

➥ masterlist

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

[wearywinchester]

Been Loving You

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: After never having the nerve to tell each other how you feel, an opportunity presents itself even if it takes a little work.

Requested by Anonymous: Hi! Since your requests are on. Can you write a fluff/angst dean and reader fic, they both have feelings for each other and they're too insecure to admit it. And dean flirts with another girl and introduces her to the reader, reader acts like she's fine but then cries??

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: angst, flirting, mild heartbreak, jealousy, arguing, little bit of swearing, fluff, kissing

July, 2005

The day was breezy and warm, the clouds having lessened the heat that came with being in the midst of the summer season. Even if the clouds did nothing to stave off the effect of the sun you’d like to believe it actually had been, and you refused to think otherwise or else you just might break another sweat. You were tucked away in the middle of Bobby’s property amongst a lot full of cars ranging from totaled to rusty to salvageable should he feel like getting his hands dirty that day. He didn’t.

But one person that did was Dean Winchester.

You stood with your arms crossed over your chest, staring out over the dozens of car roofs, each one holding their own story as to just how it was they got there in the first place.

“Wrench,” Dean called out at some point, an instruction you only half heard. It was growing increasingly obvious that your mind was elsewhere, that your attention was directed at the puffy gray clouds in the distance. He’d noticed, peeking his head around the Impala from where’d he’d been working under the hood for an amount of time you lost track of. “Sweetheart, wrench.”

You turned your head at the nickname, a brief look of confusion crossing your face before you realized what it was he’d said. You rolled your eyes at the look on his face, one that softened to a smile as you handed over the wrench grasped in your hand. He took it with a shake of his head and a laugh not quiet enough for you to miss, and you breathed out a sigh.

“You’re a terrible helper, you know,” he jests, voice muffled from where he stood.

“Pretty sure I didn’t ask to help you, De,” you say, leaning back against an old truck.

“Too bad,” he says, flashing you a smile all while you furrowed your brows and pursed your lips at his words.

“Why not have Sam help you? I’m sure he knows more about cars than me.”

You heard him laugh again, head shaking at your assumption that Sam had any form of a clue on how to fix a car, let alone Dean’s car. The thought of Sam under a hood had him chuckling, the idea all too humorous. He pulled back to look at you. “First of all, he definitely wouldn’t. Second of all…”

He trails off, looking at you with a half smirk on his lips.

“What?” You inquire, amused curiosity in your tone.

“Sammy’s just not you,” he shrugs, a glimmer in his eyes as he leans back over the engine.

Your smile falls for just a moment as your heart skips a beat, that very smile returning once you realize just what it was that he had said. He’s just not you. You turned away and looked over your shoulder, a pitiful attempt to hide the way you couldn’t stifle your smile, your cheeks burning at what it was that could mean. Maybe it meant something and maybe it didn’t. But either way it’d surely be stuck on your mind for a ridiculous amount of time.

But soon your attention turns back to the very person that it’s always been on, and you were bound to be teased if he’d caught you staring but the thought didn’t sound quite so bad at that moment. In your defense, it was hard not to think about much else other than the way his brows furrow when he’s stumped on just what he wants to fix next, or the way his cheeks flushed ever so lightly under the sun, his freckles all the more prominent across the bridge of his nose. Smudges of grease had stained his t-shirt, painted across his knuckles and smeared on his forehead each and every time he’d wiped the sweat off with the back of his hand.

Maybe it was that, or maybe it was the way his necklace had dangled down and swung there until he finally got irritated enough to tuck it in his shirt with a mumble of a swear and a clench of his jaw. That was something, though—no matter how frustrated repairing this beloved car of his made him, no matter how much he huffed and puffed and tossed his tools down with a bit more force than necessary. It was the way his anger seemed to melt each time he’d looked at you, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smile before he turned to try again with a better attitude.

Yeah, that was it.

You hadn’t realized just how distracted you’d been until you felt a hand on your cheek, calloused and warm, and when you looked up your eyes met the taunting green gaze of the older Winchester staring down at you. Your breath caught in your throat as the pad of his thumb brushed along your cheek, cheeks that burned under his palm and the way he’d been gazing had your heart pounding in your chest. Racing until you saw the familiar quirk pulling at his lips.

“Got a little somethin’ on your face,” he says, smiling an all too knowing smile.

You roll your eyes, turning away from him with a huff as you begin to walk away. “I’m eating the last slice of pie for that.”

You heard the metallic clink of a tool leave his hand and hit the ground, “no—no you’re not! That has my name on it and you know it.”

You shake your head as you quicken your pace, a smile on your lips as the butterflies in your stomach remain.

October, 2005

You stood in the small, one person bathroom, back to the mirror as you leaned against the small porcelain sink. The tears were already rimming your eyes as you stood there, having been at that same restaurant for forty-five minutes waiting for your date to show up even though you knew it’d been a bust after you’d waited the first fifteen minutes. You were miserable and embarrassed, and this was the exact reason you didn’t like going on dates in the first place.

Your hand was shaky as you pressed Dean’s name, holding your phone up to your ear as it rang all but two times.

He’d make a joke when he answered the phone, something you more than expected by that point each and every time you called him, especially when he knew you were on a date with a guy he’d been poking fun at the whole ride to the restaurant until he’d dropped you off. You couldn’t blame him, maybe you could, but that was just in his nature and there was no changing that.

“Was brown eyes that boring?”

His laugh sounded on the other end, lighthearted and upbeat in a way that had a soft huff leaving your lips as you rolled your eyes at his words.

“Dean,” you grumble, letting your eyes fall closed for a moment.

“Oh, come on. You know I’m not wrong. I just—”

“Dean.”

The simple use of his name that time had effectively cut him and his teasing short, leaving a beat of silence as you swallowed thickly now that you had his full attention. You didn’t even need to see him to be able to picture just what kind of expression he’d been wearing at the moment.

“Can you come pick me up?”

You hated how fragile your voice sounded, something you immediately cover up as you clear your throat in a pitiful attempt to distract him from it. You knew it wouldn’t but it was worth the effort anyway, anything to ease the fact that it must have been obvious that you were hurting.

It’d been all of ten minutes before the rumble of an engine came into earshot as you sat on the curb that bordered the restaurant, gathering more than a few stares of people showing up with their dates in tow. You knew it must have been obvious what you were moping about. The headlights were near blinding as he pulled up next to you, and you were on your feet in an instant as you sulked to the car and slumped in your rightful seat. Your misery was more than evident to him as he sat in the parking lot for a minute much to your dismay.

“Are you okay?” He asks, louder than he meant to be as he gave you a once over.

“Peachy.”

He rolls his eyes. “Are you hurt?”

“Just my ego,” you mumble with a huff, though you soften at the concern sounding in his voice. “‘M fine, Dean.”

His jaw tensed as he looked at you, lingering on the glimmer on your cheeks from the fresh tears you’d tried to wipe away. At the way your bottom lip quivered in a way that was all too telling that you weren’t peachy, you couldn’t be farther from it.

He hadn’t even wanted you to go on that date in the first place, jealousy having simmered in the pit of his stomach since the moment you told him about it. He didn’t even need to see the guy to know he wasn’t good enough for you, that he was up to no good. He hated the tone of your voice when you called him, he hated that he was right. Not that he thought he was good enough for you, not even remotely did he think that, but when you told him about brown eyes, he wanted to be selfish and have you to himself for the night. He wanted to be the one to take you out on that date.

“He’s a dick,” he said quietly, anger woven around his words as he looked at you. “And he damn sure doesn’t deserve you.”

You looked down at your lap, picking at the loose string of your dress. “Can we please go?”

He looked at you as you went and looked out of the window, jaw clenching even tighter as he gave you one more glance. He put the car in drive without another word, tires squealing as he sped out of the parking lot, headed back towards the motel.

March, 2006

The sticks cracked beneath two pairs of muddied boots, the sound near deafening in contrast to the silence amongst the woods you and Dean had found yourself in. It wouldn’t have been quite so bad if you knew where you’d been going even just a little bit, and it wouldn’t have been quite so bad if the sun wasn’t dipping lower and lower into the sky. Not to mention the fact that Dean was simmering in his own anger, and you were fairly certain that you were the cause. In fact, you knew you were.

The light rain that sprinkled over you ever so slightly through the trees hadn’t done very much to work in your favor, though you don’t think anything could at this point. Especially not the scrape grazing your cheek.

“Would you quit huffing? We’ll find a way out of here,” you finally say, nearly smacking into his back when he stops in front of you.

“Right, because we’re totally not stuck in the middle of freakin’ nowhere. If it weren’t for you we’d be out of here by now,” he snaps, brows furrowed deeply as he looks down at you.

“Oh, so this is my fault now?”

He laughed then, humorless as he looked away and shook his head, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. You knew he was dangerously close to snapping, more than he already did, but even then you couldn’t find it in yourself to tread lightly.

“If I recall correctly, it was your brilliant plan to go and run off and chase a werewolf all by yourself in the woods. You went and got yourself hurt and you nearly got yourself killed. That seems a lot to me like how we got into this mess, doesn’t it, Y/n?”

“Dean—”

“You’re lucky you only came out of there with a scrape on your cheek and a busted lip.”

Your brows knit together and your fists clench, nearly on the verge of tears with how frustrated you’d been at the green eyed Winchester fuming in front of you. “Why are you so mad? I’m here aren’t I?”

He looked as if you’d asked the most ridiculous question he’s ever heard in his life. “Mad? Why am I so mad? You went out there today like you’re invincible. I’m angry because I—”

He cut himself short then, shaking his head as he looked away from you. Those three words were so close on the tip of his tongue he nearly made a fool of himself, his heart pounding and a huff puffing through flared nostrils as you nearly watched him unravel in front of you. The crease between your brows deepens as you watch his inner turmoil, fists relaxing at your sides.

“Forget it,” he says, just as frustrated as he plays it off and looks down at you just briefly. His jaw clenches once more before he hikes his bags up further in his shoulder, grabbing your hand and turning his back to you. “Can’t have you getting lost on me again.”

You roll your eyes but not once did you pull your hand from his.

July, 2006

Your eyes rolled for what had to be the millionth time that night as you slumped further down in your seat, your eyes lingering on the older Winchester and the girl he’d been flirting with at the bar counter for the last half an hour. Sam had caught on to the source of your misery not long after it began, but between the pout you tried so desperately to hide and the way it started right around the time his brother started talking to the pretty girl serving drinks just a few feet away, it wasn’t hard to figure out.

“Am I boring you?” Sam jests, closing the book of notes and newspaper clippings he’d been working from for the next hunt. Your gaze lifts from the table to meet his gaze, unamused by his teasing. “You know, instead of sulking, you could tell him how you feel.”

You snort as you sit up in your seat, dragging your hand down your face. “Sam, that might be the stupidest idea you’ve ever had.”

“Oh, come on. Would it be so bad?”

One glance over your shoulder had your stomach churning and twisting in knots, your gaze moving back to the brunette with the bad ideas. “Yes Sam, it would be terrible.”

The more you sat at that table the less you wanted to be there, the music having grown far too loud for your liking as a headache began to form. This wasn’t the first or the second time you’d been to this bar, it was the third because Dean had eyes for the beautiful bartender. Your food was nearly completely untouched and your drink the same, though you were starting to think it might be a good idea to go ahead and down it but there wasn’t nearly enough time to do that and get another argument in with Sam before that ever familiar voice got your attention.

“Everyone,” he starts, smiling ear to ear as his arm wrapped around her. “I’d like you to meet Julie.”

His grin was beaming as she laughed into his neck, whispering something in his ear that you surely didn’t want to know. Sam’s smile in your direction was as empathetic as ever, your heart sinking down to your stomach as you swirl your straw in your drink. The room was rapidly becoming more suffocating and stuffy, the commotion near nauseating as the pressure behind your eyes deepened. You couldn’t be there another moment.

“I’m feeling a little tired, I—I think I’m gonna go,” you say as you swallow down the lump in your throat, sudden as you rise from your seat and grab your bag.

The smile on Dean’s face fell slightly, brows furrowing. “You okay?”

“‘M fine,” you say, offering a smile as you brush past the pair in favor of making your way to the door.

The outside air, though not very much cooler than the bar, felt better on your skin as you clutched the strap of your bag. The tears that welled in your eyes wasted no time in spilling over your cheeks now that you were alone, lip quivering pitifully as the hurt in your heart seeped out in waves and made your tears fall faster. They rolled down your heated cheeks and raced along the length of your neck, gathering on the collar of your shirt one after another.

Falling in love with your best friend doesn’t seem so bad until it breaks your heart.

September, 2006

Of all the people to be trapped in a storm with, Dean Winchester isn’t one you’d wanted it to be. The rain had been coming down so hard you could barely see the Impala parked outside the motel room. The wind whipping around had cut the power, effectively stealing your chances of busying yourself with some tv to take your mind off of anything other than the man you shared a room with.

Locking yourself in the bathroom would certainly be an option you’d weighed over more than once in your mind, but the thought of sitting alone in a small room with absolutely no source of light hadn’t been something that enticing to you. The only light in the motel room was the frequent flash of lightning and Dean’s flashlight before the batteries died.

“When’s this storm supposed to die down?” He asked from his bed, getting up to peek out through the blinds.

“Why? You late for a date with Julie?”

It’s quiet for a few moments, the blinds snapping back once he lets go of them and you could feel his stare on you as you looked up at the ceiling from your spot on your bed. Your jaw clenched as another flash of lightning illuminated the room, a booming crack of thunder soon to follow it. You were just waiting for what he had to say.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” There it was.

“I think it’s pretty clear,” you say, tone as witty as it’d been for the last who-knows-how-long.

“We broke up a month ago, Y/n. ‘M surprised you don’t already know that. You know, since you’re the know it all of the friendship.”

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see you, a huff falling past your lips. “Quit it, Dean.”

“What is your problem, Y/n? You’ve been actin’ funny for weeks and it’s driving me crazy. You’re taking every chance you get to get away from me,” he says, anger woven around his every word as his voice raises over the thunder.

“I can’t exactly do that right now,” you say, rolling over on your side as you avoid his question and turn your back to him instead.

You heard him laugh to himself, one void of humor as the springs of his mattress squeak under his weight as he sat down. Your jaw tenses once more as you huff through your nose, loud enough for him to hear as you tried your best to make yourself comfortable for the night.

The emotions clouding your mind were bound to boil over at some point before the night is over now that you’d been stuck with the source of your heartache and you weren’t sure if you’d rather stay or walk through the downpour coming down outside. The more you thought on it, the more you thought better of it despite how tempting it may have been.

The simple sight of him had tugged at your heart, making you think of just how foolish it was to fall for your best friend, or perhaps even more so that you hadn’t told him before. You couldn’t get Sam’s words out of your head no matter how hard you tried. If Sam of all people thinks you should have then maybe it wouldn’t have been a bad idea to put your heart on the line. Maybe you should’ve said it, you certainly had plenty of opportunities to do it. But it didn’t matter anymore, not really, your heart was heavy and your mind was heavier as you sulked and moped in your own misery.

You pushed away your own best friend and it was time you’d never get back, all because you had feelings you couldn’t swallow down. But they were always there, and now they’d gone and boiled over.

“You wanna know why it didn’t work out between us?” He asks, sudden as his question cuts through the quiet in the room save for the ongoing storm. You don’t say a word, laying still as your gaze is fixed on the wall and your back remains to him. You don’t know what he could possibly say or what it was supposed to make you feel but you couldn’t find it in yourself to press for an answer. If he told you, fine, but if he didn’t—

“It didn’t work because she wasn’t you.”

You stilled even more if that was possible, your heart skipping more than a few beats as your brows furrow. You were utterly baffled, unsure if you’d even heard him correctly or if it was some dream you’d been having that you were bound to wake up from. Your movement was sudden as you sat up and turned around, the faint bit of light illuminating the expression you held.

“What?”

He sat across from you on the edge of his bed, brows knit together in the dim lighting. He laughed softly as he looked at his hands, shaking his head. He stood to his feet and ran his hands through his hair, pacing a bit before he stood still.

“You’re my best friend, Y/n. You’re a pain in the ass, sure, but you’re my best friend,” he starts, your lips pursing as he cracked a smile. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it lately, I really don’t. But I’ve been lovin’ you since I was sixteen and it took me ten years and a month full of you ignoring me to see it. She’s not you, Y/n.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He laughed softly, rubbing his face and releasing a sigh.

“Because, my life isn’t exactly a chick flick where the guy gets the girl of his dreams, is it, sweetheart? It’s more of a tragic Lifetime movie where the guy’s best friend falls for someone else,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he looked at his feet.

You swallowed thickly as you looked at him, cheeks burning and stomach filled with butterflies that raged in your stomach. You were at a loss for words as you sat there, starting to wonder for the second time that night if what you were hearing was a dream. Dean Winchester, your best friend, the one you’d spend the better part of ten years pining after, was in love with you. You couldn’t grasp that thought. Not that you had much time to before he spoke up.

“Sweetheart, please say something. I know you’re mad at me but right now I’m starting to feel a little bit like a complete idiot and I—”

Before he could finish you’d already stood to your feet and grabbed the collar to his leather jacket, your lips on his without second thought. It took him by surprise for just a moment before his hands settled on your face, his smile pressing into your lips. You pulled away for just a second, his lips lingering over yours in hopes you wouldn’t stray too far. You wouldn’t, just enough for you to say one more thing.

“You are an idiot.”

He huffed out a soft laugh as his breath brushed warmly against your lips, hands dropping from your face in favor of pulling you closer before he dipped down and kissed you again.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @dean-is-sams-apple-pie @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes

[eggtoasties]

Pairing: Eventual Osamu x Reader

Rating: E for fucking Samu in the car :-)

Word Count: 4.4k of Miya twin shenanigans, fluff, then eventual smut

Summary: A hopeful love and a blossomed love; years of wishing on candles and they’re both content.

a/n: @powderblew​ ur the hopeful love my beloved

Contrary to popular belief, Miya Atsumu does not speed. Yes, he nearly loses his mind on the interstate every other day but his road rage is completely contained to cursing in the confines of his car. Most people think Atsumu’s the reckless driver with his loud personality and penchant for pulling off risky moves on the court, but surprisingly, it’s his counterpart who fully believes that the actual speed limit is at least ten above the posted signage and weaves through lanes with one hand on the wheel and the other on her thigh.

Atsumu got Osamu the car as a birthday gift—black, sleek, and quiet. He had been dropping hints for weeks but Osamu had brushed them off, figuring his brother was spewing incoherent nonsense.

It was the weekend before their birthday. They decided to take a trip to the mountains—it was rare at this point in their young adult lives to have the free time to spend with each other. Osamu was busy with the shop: serving customers, preparing food, and trying new dishes. Getting Onigiri Miya off the ground was a seven day work week with early mornings and late nights. Atsumu on the other hand, had regularly scheduled practices and travel matches with the team. Although his schedule was incredibly hectic, there was a sort of rhythmic regularity to it.

So, for the first weekend in a long time where it would be just them, Atsumu wanted it to be special. Afterall, it was their birthday. Atsumu was the one who drove them to the campsite, taking in the scenery with appreciation, going slowly on the winding roads while mindlessly tapping a beat on the steering wheel. As they got closer and closer to their destination, Osamu could tell his brother was antsy.

His eyes would flicker from the road, to Osamu, then back again. His mindless tapping to the music turned into an incessant drilling and he kept readjusting his legs and changing his hand position on the wheel, fidgeting in his seat.

“Wouldya’ quit that, yer gonna crash the fuckin’ car,” Osamu said, exaggeratingly clutching to the grab handle at the top of his window.

“Yer really gonna yell at me on ma’ birthday that’s jus’ like ya’ Samu—”

“It’s ma’ birthday too ya’ idiot!”

The sound of his brother’s bickering quelled Atsumu’s nerves and he settled in the driver’s seat, humming along to the song playing on the speakers. In response, Osamu turned up the volume, but Atsumu just grinned.  

“You will arrive at your destination in .2 miles,” the smooth voice of the GPS chimed.

Atsumu began fidgeting again and Osamu swore he was gonna punch him the moment they made it out of the death trap.

They pulled into the winding driveway and Osamu banged his head against the dashboard.

“Please tell me ya’ didn’t screw up the reservation,” he said quietly.

“What kinda idiot, do ya’ take me for, Samu?” Atsumu whined. Although Osamu couldn’t see with his forehead pressed against the polished wood interior, Atsumu was smiling.

“Then why is there another car parked in our spot?” Osamu deadpanned, turning his head to his brother, still pressed into the dash.

“Look again an’ eat yer words ya’ scrub.”

Driving slowly forward towards the car and parking next to it, Osamu realized that a bright red bow was tied to the hood. He stilled in his seat and stared dumbly out his window, slowly turning towards his brother.

“Do ya’ like it, Samu?” Atsumu nearly whispered, leaning in close to his brother, eyes wide, committing every micro reaction to memory.

Osamu blinked once. Twice. Then turned back to the car.

“Yeah, Tsumu,” he said shakily, “I really do.”

Against the burning in his throat and the tightening of his eyes, Osamu willed himself to remain composed when he heard rustling. Atsumu took out a crumpled and worn piece of notebook paper, its edges frayed and torn and began to smooth it out in his palms.

He cleared his throat and stared at the empty space across Osamu’s shoulder.

“So, uh…” he began, uncharacteristically shy and Osamu sent a prayer that this wasn’t a speech about how Tsumu had somehow accidentally razed Onigiri Miya to the ground in the short period that he wasn’t there and this was all an elaborate apology.

“I know that this year’s been tough with Onigiri Miya jus’ startin’ out an’ everythin’ but I jus’ wanted to say,” Atsumu trailed off and scratched his ear before suddenly, startling Osamu, squaring his shoulders and directing a piercing stare into his brother’s eyes. “I’m so proud of you Samu!” he nearly yelled, face flushed with embarrassment.

Osamu felt the heat prickle against his neck and all he could do was blink owlishly at his twin.

“What on Earth are ya’ goin’ on about?” he questioned incredulously.

“Okay, okay, wait I wrote it all down,” Atsumu said quickly, smoothing the worn paper once again. He cleared his throat a few times before reading.

“Osamu—”

“Oh my god is this a proposal, why is this so formal?” Osamu asked out loud.

“God, shut yer big ol’ trap wouldya I am tryin’ here,” Atsumu bit back to the amusement of his twin. “Anyways,” he grumbled. “Samu. I’ve been thinkin’ for a while and I jus’ wanted to say thank ya’ for always bein’ there for me.”

Osamu did not often feel stupid. Well, that’s a lie, he thought. It’s been a year since Onigiri Miya’s opening and he was only just beginning to feel as if he was able to call his job stable and that he had a solid understanding of how things should be ran. However, it was not often that his brother made him feel stupid, but here he was, at a loss for words at this uncharacteristic show of appreciation.

Yes, high fives and hugs had always come easily after a particularly clean hit or a perfectly executed pass, but they never sat down like this and talked about how much they appreciated each other. Osamu figured it was unsaid in the little things—how the clothes Atsumu stole in high school always ended back clean in Osamu’s closet, how Osamu usually ended up making two bentos when they still lived together, or how Atsumu had always tried to include Osamu in team bonding even when Osamu was in college.

“I think,” Atsumu said, breaking Osamu out of his thoughts. “That you were what made me work so hard at volleyball. Not because you were the only one that could challenge me,” Osamu scoffed at this. “But because you were the only one I cared to play with for a long time.”

Tears pricked at his eyes and Osamu nodded at his brother to continue.

“An’ thinkin’ back, yer probably the only reason why ma’ teammates didn’t excommunicate me like they did to Tobio-kun,” Atsumu joked and Osamu cracked a smile despite the burning of his throat.

“An’ I know we’ve talked about this before, but I am still really sorry when I went off on ya’ when ya’ told me you were quittin’ volleyball. I don’t mean to beat a dead horse or anything—”

“You sound like Baa-chan,” Samu choked out, still trying to hold back tears, hands balled into fists on his lap.

Undeterred, Atsumu continued to read. “But the fact that fer the first time, ya’ wouldn’t be by my side on the court was jus’ never a possibility I’d considered. So ‘m sorry ‘bout the fuss I made even though I know that’s all old news.” He paused and nodded at Osamu, noting his fists and drew in a shaky breath.

“’Samu, I jus’ want to let ya’ know that I am so endlessly proud to be yer brother and all the work ya’ put in in college and startin’ Miya Onigiri honestly scared me a little,” he said chuckling. “The way you really focus in on somethin’ when yer concentrating was always so intense, but I’d only really seen it with volleyball. But ever since you went to college, and especially with this past year, I can’t believe I fought you to go pro with me because I’d never seen ya’ more fired up or intense than ya’ have been this past year.”

The sides of Atsumu’s paper begin to tear with the force of his grip, and both twins are mirror images of each other. Red in the face, hands in fists, and willing the other to cry first.

“Basically,” Atsumu drawled on, hands slightly shaking, “thank ya’ for bein’ the best brother and teammate I coulda’ ever asked for and I’m so, so, proud to be the brother of the founder of Onigiri Miya.” He lowered the paper from his line of vision and accidentally crumbled it with his hand as he blurt out, “And I love you!” turning even redder in embarrassment. “Even though ya’ never respond to my texts and make fun a’ me when I bring my teammates ‘round,” he quickly added in.

Osamu undid his seatbelt and forcefully opened his door. He heard Atsumu’s confused “huh” and watched as he fumbled with his seatbelt through the windshield as he crossed to the other side. Atsumu stumbled out of the driver’s seat and Osamu captured him in a bone crushing hug. One hand wrapped around his back and the other held Atsumu’s head as he cried into his neck.

He thought back to the first semester of culinary school when he questioned himself every single day if it was the right choice to have made. Learning and practicing different techniques that felt foreign was a hurdle that had seemed impossible at the time. Then, when he graduated and he figured he knew almost everything there was to know about the food industry after hours and hours of lab, internships, and class and began preparations for opening Miya Onigiri, he realized once again that he knew nothing. Even a year after founding Miya Onigiri and he still found himself doubting his success.

But, hearing his idiot brother tell him he was proud—was all he needed. Because Miya Osamu also pushed himself to the upper limits of his physical and mental abilities because his brother was the only one he wanted to compete with. It didn’t matter who else might try and challenge them, at the end of their finish lines, the only person they wanted to see was each other.

The autumnal air was incredibly crisp and although the forest surrounding their luxury cabin was teeming with life, time around them seemed to still as they both cried.

“This is too much, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu sniffled out. “My gift ta’ ya’ was literally like, two hundred dollars.”

“It’s okay,” sniffled Atsumu. He paused. “What’d ya’ get me?”

Osamu pulled away and wiped his face with the bottom hem of his sweater.

“I got ya’ a signed copy of that book you were yappin’ on about with yer favorite author and I got her to make a video for ya’ sayin’ happy birthday and all that—”

“Oh my god,” Atsumu said excitedly, “Yer tellin’ me ya’ got Sonia Barnes to write me a handwritten message and a private video!?”

Osamu grimaced at the snot Atsumu had dripping down his chin. “First of all don’t say it like that, an’ second of all, wipe yer nose or somethin’ ya’ scrub.”

Completley ignoring his brother’s complaints, Atsumu lunged at Osamu, begging him to show him the video. Osamu tapped at his phone, opened up the email attachment, and watched the myriad expressions of surprise, admiration, love, and happiness flicker across Atsumu’s face during a 20 second video while red eyed and swollen. He mused that this was possibly the best birthday they ever had.

.

“Let’s take this baby on a test drive,” Osamu said, eagerly waiting by the door as Atsumu watched his birthday video for the umpteenth time.

That Sonia Barnes was a very pretty lady, Osamu reasoned, but if he had to hear her chirp, “Happy Birthday Tsumu!” one more time, she was going to be the cause of fratricide.

.

Settling into the leather seat, Osamu pressed the start button and nearly cooed at the soft rumble of the engine.

Throwing himself into the passenger’s seat Atsumu said, “Let’s figure out how ta’ connect to Bluetooth so I can hear ma’ angel on speaker,” fiddling with the touch screen.

Osamu grabbed Atsumu’s phone and threw it in the backseat and put the car in drive just as Atsumu started to clamber in the back for it. He peeled down the driveway as Atsumu screamed and picked up speed down the secluded road as Atsumu managed to get back in his seat and secure the seat belt.

The pretty autumn foliage was a blur of orange and reds and Osamu breathed in the smell of new leather and wood polish.

“S-slow down!” Atsumu yelled, quickly activating the lock function on the seatbelt and gripping the grab handle with both hands. “I-is this b-because I told the whole team you’d giv’ em’ free food if they said they were my teammate,” he screamed, “I’ll tell ‘em nevermind!”

Osamu rolled down the windows and the sun roof and laughed as the wind ran through his hair while his brother cried for the second time that day.

.

A year later and Osamu’s still in the driver’s seat of his car, but this time, she’s in the passenger’s seat. They have all the windows down and he’s speeding along the coast of Hyogo, sea breeze whipping through their hair and the sound of waves breaking in the distance.

She had planned a full day for his birthday: brunch at their favorite restaurant, a walk through the shopping district, and a homemade dinner with a fruit tart from his favorite bakery. Now that he had two years of experience running Onigiri Miya, he could afford to step away from the shop every so often. Unfortunately, his counterpart was on the other side of the world for a match, but they managed to squeeze in a short videocall despite the time difference.

“’Samu!” Atsumu screamed from the other line, “Happy Birthday!”

Wincing, Osamu turned the volume of his phone down as she giggled and wished his brother a Happy Birthday.

“What’d ya’ plan for Samu’s birthday,” Atsumu asked her, “good luck beatin’ ma’ gift from last year—”

“Tsumu!” Osamu berated.

“Unfortunately, my research job doesn’t pay as much as being a pro-volleyballer,” she rolled her eyes, “but I do have some fun things lined up,” she said, smiling softly at Osamu to which Atsumu gagged.

“Ya’ scrub, just ‘cause yer jealous—”

“Tsumu!” she interrupted, “did you get our gift? We were a little nervous about the international shipping but your hotel said they got it so—”

“Yes!” Atsumu exclaimed, screen blurry as he shuffled around his hotel room. He set his phone down and propped it up, showing them the neatly packaged box. “I can’t believe ya’ got me another signed copy of Sonia Barnes’s book—I couldn’t even get this one off preorder, it was so popular—”

“Did ya’ open the envelope yet?” Osamu asked impatiently.

“Of course I did! I always open the letter before the present, what do ya’ take me for, Samu?” Atsumu whined, but the duo noticed how Atusmu’s hands were off screen and they could hear quiet tearing noises in between pauses.

Rolling their eyes, they patiently waited for Atsumu to unsubtly open their envelope. They watched as Atsumu quickly scanned the contents of the letter and Osamu hit screen record as his brother’s mouth dropped open.

“T-tickets to a live reading and meet and greet?” Atsumu whispered to himself. He pulled the letter closer to his face and read it over and over again before gingerly setting the cardstock down and gently looking into the envelope to produce two ticket stubs. Carefully placing the tickets back into the envelope, Osamu failed to cover his snickers as Atsumu’s lower lip trembled.

“I know it’s no car,” she said, “but I do happen to know people who know people, so I hope you like your gift, ‘Tsumu” she said kindly.

Atsumu suddenly held the phone close to his face and Osamu could see his brother’s ears turn pink.

“Yer the best sister in law I coulda’ ever asked for, I don’t know why yer with that good fer nothin’ scrub—yer not married yet, so ya’ still have time to run away, but ‘Samu, ya’ better not mess it up,” he rambled, roughly wiping his nose with the sleeve of his jacket.

Osamu scoffed and she placed a placating hand on his shoulder.

“I can’t believe I get ta’ meet ma’ angel,” Atsumu mumbled to himself in disbelief, pacing in his hotel room, running his hands through his hair. “Angel, angel, angel—I gotta bring ma’ copy of her books with ma’ notes! I have so many questions for her, like how she came up with the storyline—didya know she went to school in New York City? Isn’t that the coolest? And she made a video for me for ma’ birthday last year,” he broke his monologue to gasp. “Do ya’ think she’ll remember me—”

Osamu put him on mute and groaned.

“Maybe we shoulda jus’ gotten him those fancy mugs,” he complained, leaning heavily into her side.

She rubbed the sides of his neck as she watched with amusement as Atsumu continued his ramblings, completely unaware that she and Osamu were having a side conversation.

“But look how happy he is, Samu,” she crooned, giggling as Osamu pinched his nose bridge. But she knew that Osamu was the one who spent hours scouring the web for those tickets and sent several emails to Sonia Barnes’s manager for a signed copy.

Watching his brother run his mouth with no regard to himself or his girlfriend, Osamu clicked the unmute button and nearly yelled, “We get it ya’ scrub, we get it!”

“Let me be happy why dontcha!” Atsumu retorted.

“Alright well I’m gonna spend ma’ birthday with ma’ real girlfriend,” Osamu taunted, finger hovering over the ‘end call’ button.

“Once Sonia meets me she’s gonna fall in love, just ya’ wait!”

She yelled one last, “Happy Birthday!” before Osamu disconnected the call and tackled her into the bed.

.

For the end of his birthday, Osamu requested a car ride. It was just past sunset; the sky’s vibrant pinks and oranges faded into a cool indigo and the stars were extra bright in the rural area they were driving through.

They rode in comfortable silence, listening to seagulls call their good nights and the wind beating against the car. The supple leather of the seat underneath her contrasted with the rough pads of Osamu’s fingertips on her thigh and she stared out at the horizon, perpetually in awe of the beauty of the coast line. Here, twinkling city lights were hardly discernible specks in the distance and the only tall structures were the trees dotting the cliffside.

They rose higher in altitude until they were surrounded by lush forest—rustling underbush and singing cicadas took over the sound crashing waves. He pulled into a secluded nook that overlooked a cliff and she couldn’t believe they were only a forty minute drive from the main city.

He killed the engine and unbuckled her seat belt while she was still leaning forward, face close to the windshield, taking in the scenery.

“I’m feelin’ a bit neglected over here,” Osamu said, soft grin taking over his face as he watched her, lips parted and eyes wide.

“Sorry Samu,” she said, still looking out the glass, “it’s just so incredible here.”

“I told ya’ I knew a spot,” he teased and she intertwined her hand with his.

He pulled her arm towards him as leaned over the middle console so his lips caught her neck when she lurched towards him. Her surprised chuckle turned into a content hum, fluttering her eyes closed as he kissed the pulse point of her throat, her exposed shoulder, then where her neck met her clavicle. From there, he dragged his lips slowly to her ear and grinned when he felt her clutch at his sweater.

Nipping her ear and tracing the shell with his tongue, rough palms kneaded her thighs and his fingers played with the hem of her skirt. He let out a heavy breath when she brushed against his tightening pants and he smirked when she involuntarily shivered.

“Do ya’ like this?” he asked, mouth kissing down the expanse of her chest, pulling the hem of her shirt low.

She arched her back into him and guided his hand under her shirt and he grinned when she impatiently unhooked her bra and took it and her shirt off in one swift motion.

“Does that answer your question?”

Eyes half lidded, lips slick with spit and plump from his repeated ministrations, she had one leg folded under her and the other anchored to the floor. Fully facing him, she cocked her head to the side and dragged her eyes down his body, lingering for a moment before directing her heavy gaze at him. She leaned back against the door as he leaned forward on the middle console and she ran a hand slowly from her knee, teasing a peek under her skirt, tracing a finger around her navel, then making her way upwards, rolling a nipple with two fingers while slowly rocking her hips.

Osamu’s lips parted and his eyes flickered from her hands to her face as she brought her other hand to rub at the cotton beneath her legs. Gaze hungry, he licked his lips and rolled his neck, languidly leaning back against his door, mirroring her.

“Gonna give me a birthday show?” He rasped, slowly unbuttoning his pants and palming his length through his boxers.

Skirt bunched at the waist giving him an unhindered view of the growing wet stain between her legs and Osamu felt himself tighten at the sight. He wanted to press his nose against the ruined fabric and lap at her through her pink panties, he wanted to curl a finger in her and listen to her keel for him, he wanted to—

“Take your shirt off,” she demanded.

“I thought it was ma’ birthday,” he chuckled but does as she asks, pulling the fabric from the back of his neck. He tossed the garment to the backseat and lazily looked back at her.

The tops of her cheeks are flushed and her breasts shake with each pant. She’s worked two slender fingers from the side of her underwear and Osamu watches with rapt attention as her pretty folds are presented to him.

“Touch yourself, Samu.”

“Again with the demands,” he complained but freed himself from the confines of his boxers and matches the pace she’s set on herself.

“Fuck,” she whined, moving faster. The hand teasing her nipples moved south to pinch at her clit and Osamu couldn’t wait anymore.

He nearly launched himself to her, abdomen uncomfortably resting on top of the center console and she seemed all too satisfied with the result. He buried his face between her legs and groaned with her as he sucked and lapped at her overstimulated bundle of nerves through soaked cotton.

“Itadakimasu,” he growled and she rolled her eyes at the line.

Long languid licks interspersed with quick flicks of his tongue, he took her right to the edge of her orgasm. Her thighs clenched around his head while her nails dragged through his gray hair and she rocked her hips against his mouth. Toe curling heat had her buck helplessly against his tongue, rough hands gripping her in place as she reached her peak, but at the last second, he pulled away.

Her gasp was lost with the loud bang his head made as it slammed against the car ceiling and he let out a string of curses as he tried to fit in the passenger’s seat with her. She half stands, leaning back on the glove department as he sat down and she couldn’t help but giggle when he cursed at how slowly the seat was reclining back.

But just as quick, he grabbed her by the hands and has her straddle him. The seat is narrow but neither of them mind as he slowly entered her. She gripped at the back of his head as he teased a nipple and sucked constellations across her chest while her other hand gripped the grab handle, giving her more leverage.

Osamu slowly rocked into her and he captured her moans in a kiss. He gave her a second to adjust to his length before slamming into her, head falling back into the headrest as he watched her bounce above him.

Beautiful, was all he could think. Hair wild around her shoulders, a glistening sheen of perspiration across her forehead and chest, and the incredible sound of her slick around him. He was in heaven.

He slid his thumb between her parted lips and she immediately began to suck. She bobbed her head back and forth while giving kitten licks at the tip and nipping the underside of his thumb.

“Good girl,” he cooed as he pressed his finger further back in her throat and watched as her eyes rolled back and she rocked her hips even faster against his.

Removing his thumb and making a show of putting it in his mouth, he pressed the wet digit against her clit and grinned as her moans became louder.

The sweet call of his name as she begged him to make her finish led him to snap his hips up, rubbing against the spongy bit of her inner walls and he held her close to his chest as they came undone together.

Breathing heavily, he rested his forehead on her shoulder and watched as a rivulet of sweat ran down the valley of her breasts and he shifted his hips forward, just now noticing the dull ache in his thighs. She shuddered against him and he kissed her shoulder, her cheek, then her other cheek.

“We really have to thank Tsumu for the car,” she said, chuckling.

“Yeah?” he questioned, running his blunt nails across her back, “should we tell him what we used it for?”

She scrunched her nose and Osamu’s heart clenched too. Wrapping her arms around his neck, soaking in the warmth of his warm body, her lips ghosted the side of his cheek and he shuddered at the tingles running down his back with the contact.

“Happy Birthday, ‘Samu,” she whispered sweetly.

Rocking into her again just to hear her breath tick, he nestled his head into her neck and smiled.

[mycrofts-gunbrella]

Caring is the Greatest Advantage- Mycroft Holmes x Reader (Part 11)

A/N- Okay so this is just a short 2k fill in chapter! It’s kinda cute and kinda sad but it was too long to add to the last chapter, and it doesn’t fit in with the theme of the next chapter (though it sets it up quite nicely!). The next chapter is likely going to be a bit angsty but I promise it’ll have a rewarding ending to it! I hope to have it written and up sooner rather than later but, until then, enjoy this little piece.

Word Count- 2028

The ten minute drive from Baker Street to the Natural History Museum went by in a flash- most of it being spent by Mycroft giving you a mental tour of the building's various rooms and the 'most appropriate route to take'. Though it did also take a minute or two for you to convince him to not get everybody kicked out for a private visit, no matter how many people were there.. Admittedly, you hadn't been to the museum for 6 years or so now- after living so long in London it feels less of a luxury being only round the corner from it- but walking through the doors made you feel like a child again. Entry to the museum was free, but that didn't mean you didn't see Mycroft swiftly pushing a few notes into the donation bin at the front before guiding you forwards. Glancing up, you eyed the blue whale skeleton that hung from the ceiling and frowned. Mycroft caught your look and spoke up.

"Ah yes, Hope has been a relatively recent addition to the museum. She was found dead on an Irish beach back in 1891. It's a rather beautiful marvel to gaze upon, though, large as she is, she doesn't quite fill the hole in my heart that was left after my beloved Dippy was removed." Your eyes scanned the skeleton of the large mammal once more before looking back at Mycroft. "I did try to convince the board to keep the diplodocus somewhere but all attempts were futile. There's only so much force you can put into such a topic without exposing yourself as-"

"As a man who loves dinosaur bones more than he loves people?" Mycroft shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed.

"The very thing." Lifting your arm, you rested your hand at the crook of Mycroft's elbow to encourage him to move on.

"When we get home and have dinner we can raise a toast in Dippy's honour.. but for now, my mind's been taken over by that huge statue of Darwin." And the pair of you headed off, your hand very much staying place at Mycroft's arm as you wandered through the rooms- Mycroft more than willing to reel off facts about every deceased animal of history and, more often than not, even impressing the workers with his spiel of facts. Though you were very much enjoying wandering aimlessly through the room of human evolution, you most definitely noticed the pull from the man beside you as he was eager to reach his beloved dino-pals. As you turned the corner into the slightly darkened dinosaur room, you tripped over your feet slightly as you felt Mycroft stop in his tracks, his eyes wide and taking everything in. He looked as happy as a boy at Christmas and, quite frankly, it was adorable. You nudged him slightly when he still didn't move. "You okay?"

"Sorry, it just seems as though, no matter how many times I come here, it always feels like the first." He had shaken his head as though to bring his thoughts back to focus before taking a few steps into the gallery and leading you over to the skeletal remains of a Baryonyx. "The name Baryonyx roughly translates to 'Heavy Claw' from the Ancient Greek's 'Barys' meaning heavy and 'onyx' being claw or talon." He spoke, his voice smooth and relaxed as his fingers brushed over the board that announced the name of the creature within the glass. "It was also an excellent swimmer which it would use to its advantage while hunting." You listened to his every word as he spoke, grinning as he excitedly told you how many teeth it had and it's preferred techniques for capturing food before he moved you onto the next one.

"Oh these beauties have always been my favourite." You almost whispered, taking in the sight of the huge triceratops skull. You barely noticed Mycroft's hand shift from his pocket until you felt the heat of his palm against the small of your back, fingers squeezing slightly by your hip as he spoke.

"Mine too. Sherlock used to say they were boring and that we might as well have gone to the zoo to look at rhinos. He ended up spending 5 months trying to prove that the rhinos were descendants from the triceratops and then avoided me for 3 weeks when he realised there was no connection at all."

"That sounds about right. Though I can't imagine Sherlock enjoying it here very much anyway.." Mycroft began to guide you to a small bench just off the side to sit down, still giving you the view of the beautiful dinosaur bones.

"He didn't. When we were much younger he would kick off until Mummy and Father would tell us it's time to go and I had to go with them.. Then as we got a little older and Sherlock properly found his legs, he would simply run from the doors round to the science museum. Of course mummy and father had to follow him as he was so young, but one time I decided to stay here. They didn't realise I hadn't followed them until it was time to go home 5 hours later." Mycroft spoke quietly.

"Found his legs? That's at, what, four? Five? How young were you?"

"I was 9 the first time, I think." Now, Mycroft, you don't just 'think'; you know. Your hand moved to rest above his own on his knee, brushing your thumb fondly over his knuckles. "But it isn't all bad. Some of my best days as a child were spent here, and a lot of the staff were very kind and would teach me extra facts that weren't displayed. There was one gentleman who even gave me his own copies of some books that they had here. I'd wander the whole museum in time but I always found myself back here on this bench just.. watching. This room felt more like home than my very house sometimes. It was the room where I could escape the real world and find peace. Eventually Mummy, Father and Sherlock stopped bothering with the visits because Sherlock found the science museum boring after he'd prove them wrong on something each time, but I'd still pop back in on occasion without them.. Coming to think about it, I've never actually brought anybody here with me at all." You squeezed at his fingers and settled back into the bench.

"Well I am incredibly glad that I found out about your little interest, and I feel even more honoured that you let me come here with you." You beamed. And it was the truth. Evidently, this little museum meant much more to Mycroft than you could have ever imagined and it warmed your heart to know that he trusted you to see him nerd out over some bones.

"Eventually I used this very building as the scaffolding to build my mind palace. My files on Sherlock, very appropriately, are nestled in the human biology room. But most people's information is either stored in the entrance, where Dippy remains over Hope, might I add, or in a few of the rooms I find less interesting.." You didn't have to ask to know he was referencing 'that room with all the bloody rocks'. "I love most of the galleries too much to taint them with information on people that aren't important. The likes of Gregory and Doctor Watson now reside in Hintze Hall as the years have passed." His eyes remained focused in front of him, unblinking, as though he was wandering the very halls at that moment.

"And where.. where are my files?" You had to ask, really. Since he was on the subject anyway. "If you've put them in the marine reptiles room when you know I'm terrified of the ocean I shall never forgive you." Mycroft's hand flipped beneath yours so the pads of your fingers brushed before he blinked and looked over to you, a small smile on his face.

"Here." Oh. Well that's.. something. You shifted to give him a quick kiss on his cheek, knowing he wasn't overly fond of PDA and tugged him to stand.

"And on that note, I think we should go and grab some lunch before you make me cry in front of the dinosaurs."

---

After lunch, you both spent a few more hours walking from room to room (and of course circling round to the dinosaur gallery again) before you decided to call it a day at 4pm. Before departing, you headed towards the toilets that happened to be beside the little gift shop and you had a browse while Mycroft was occupied. Grinning, you picked up a deep blue plush triceratops and stroked a finger across its back. It was just small enough that, after purchasing, you could hide the little guy in the loose fabric of the sweatshirt you wore, acting innocent as you waited back outside near the wall. After going to the bathroom yourself, the pair of you headed outside where a car was waiting for you. Sliding in the back seat, you couldn't contain your little gift anymore.

"Surprise!" You laughed, producing the small toy from under your clothes and into the hands of the man beside you. He studied it briefly before beginning to laugh himself as he reached into his inner pocket and handed you the matching dinosaur, though purple in colour. "God, we're such children aren't we?" You noted as you swapped plushie companions, each of you brushing a finger on its nose as though it were a small pet. "I daren't think what your colleagues would say if they knew you were now the proud owner of a baby triceratops teddy that's.." You glanced at the tag. "..Suitable for children aged 12 months plus!"

"Probably nothing as bad as if they realised said triceratops was going to take proud placement on my desk at home." He beamed. "Thank you, this really does mean a great deal to me." You knew he wasn't just talking about the toy that rolled around his long fingers and you shifted to rest your head lightly on his shoulder.

"We can come back any time. I, for one, know I'll never get bored of looking through the galleries.. Or I'll never get bored of watching you light up as we walk through said galleries. Either or works, really." He hummed in response, his emotions slightly overwhelmed from the day and its revelations into his past. "Plus there were about 10 other little dinos in the shop and I've always been one to want a full collection.. so, if we pace ourselves, that's at least 10 more trips."

"13.. Although that could be tripled if we take the colour variations into account."

"Oh, of course! Can't half-arse a collection or it's just pointless."

"I concur."

"That's settled then. Almost 40 more trips to finish off our collection.. And thennnn we can move onto the figurines." Mycroft let out a laugh beside you and tilted to rest his head atop yours for the remainder of the journey home.

---

The evening between you was shared over a meal (where, as promised, a small toast was made to the memory of Sir Dippy) before Mycroft sat to finish the papers for Greg. Eventually you collapsed into bed at a relatively reasonable time, groaning at the throbbing in your legs from the day's adventure before finally slipping into rest.

---

The next day passed relatively quickly. The morning was spent visiting Greg in his office to drop off the papers before the pair of you took a small stroll through the streets of London. Eventually, Mycroft and yourself even got a text message from Sherlock giving a (albeit half-arsed) apology for his behaviour the day before and the rest of the day was spent in bliss. That was until exactly 17 minutes after you got back home when Mycroft's mobile began to ring. He swallowed deeply, showing you the caller ID of the person he had been dreading to speak to post-Eurus and answering.

"Ah, yes.. Hello, Mummy."

[therenlover]

Heartsick (A James Patrick March/Reader Oneshot)

Synopsis: When you fall ill, James is given a forceful awakening about how he’s been neglecting your needs and what he must do to prevent harm from befalling you again

Tags: Fluff, Sickfic, Cuddling, Marriage Proposal

Rating: 16+

Warnings: Language, Potentially Triggering Mentions of the Reader Being Ill for a Long Time/Almost Dying of an Unnamed Illness, Planning Your Own Death

Word Count: 3700~

This was crossposted to my AO3 under the same title!

---------------

James Patrick March considered himself a fairly patient man. He had to be, in his line of work. Some things didn’t deserve his patience, like lazy workers or angry hotel guests, but when it came to things that did matter, he was willing to go to extremes. Murder, for example, deserved his patience. Once upon a time, the Countess did too. Yes, patience was a rare virtue Mr. March had possessed all his life.

When it came to you, though, he found his patience running short.

You had been a revelation all your own when you first walked through the doors of the Hotel Cortez with not even a suitcase to your name, radiating purity with every shallow breath. James had been excited to find you in some dark corner of the hotel and rip the life from your body. That is until you found his little nook at the Blue Parrot Lounge and seduced him with your charming personality and sweet smile. From that moment on the Countess didn’t matter anymore. The whole world was just him, you, and all of the deliciously naughty ways he wanted to debauch you.

James had insisted on moving you into your own suite on the seventh floor that very night, just a few short hallways away from his own, and given every luxury he could offer. He was nothing if not a gentleman. It just wouldn’t be right to move the one he intended to court directly into his bedroom, especially while he was still married to his previous wide. Despite the distance, things between the two of you went swimmingly. Even the murder, which James initially worried could drive you apart, was now a delightful shared activity when you chose to grace him with your presence during a kill.

That’s where the problems started.

Mr. March was a man stuck in his own time. That’s why, after 5 splendid years with you at his side, you still weren’t moved into room 78. This also meant your suite was a place he wouldn’t enter unless he was invited. Sure, you had a healthy sex life, but the Countess still had the March family engagement ring tucked away somewhere. He wouldn’t move you into his quarters or impose himself on yours until the two of you were at the very least engaged. The plans for his and the Countess’ divorce were moving, albeit slowly, when you stopped opening the door for James.

The first day he thought perhaps you were simply elsewhere, but after a week of nothing, he began to get angry. It was one thing to deny him your company, but to ignore him while he made a fool of himself banging on your door? That was a punishable offense in the March family playbook. So, he decided if you wanted to play hard to get, he would too. In his mind, James could practically envision you rushing back into his arms once you got over whatever was souring your mood. It wouldn’t be long until the whole nasty affair was behind the both of you once and for all, right?

Wrong.

A month since he last dined with you, James sat at his table in the Blue Parrot lounge alone nursing the remains of his 4th glass of scotch.

Liz was slow to walk out from her place behind the bar. “You want another?” she asked, holding out a crystal decanter, “or should I fish out the absinthe fountain a little early this year,”

“No, no I do believe I’ve had quite enough. Besides, it’s not as if I can actually get drunk anymore,” he huffed. Whether it was the drinks or his growing rage, Mr. March found his collar feeling a bit tighter. He reached up to pull at his cravat but paused when thinking about the ghastly wound it hid. In the end, he let his hand return to its place on his glass.

“Suit yourself,” Liz quickly returned the decanter to its place and began polishing glasses.

Somewhere in the distance, Iris picked up a phone and began to take an order for room service. James had an epiphany.

“Liz!” he shouted, getting her attention, “has Y/N been ordering much room service lately?”

Liz shrugged. “Only once a day for the past month. Why do you ask?”

“I find myself in a bit of a predicament. You see, Y/N began ignoring me about a month ago. I’ve been giving her a taste of her own medicine for quite some time now, and yet she has made no attempts to seek me out. Do you think, perhaps, there could be something wrong?”

The energy in the room began to still.

“Wait, Y/N hasn’t told you?”

“Told me what?”

The dirty glasses were abandoned as Liz let out a humorless laugh.

“Damn you, woman!” James rose with a shout, slamming his glass down on the table, “what is she hiding!?”

“She’s sick,”

James’ heart would have stopped if it were still beating. He sat down again, bewildered. “What?”

“She’s sick. Fever, puking, tremors; the whole shebang,” As she spoke, Liz came back to the table and sat down on the plush booth across from him.

“But it’s been a month! Influenza shouldn’t last that long…”

“Well, it’s definitely not the flu, I can tell you that. Last time I brought down her dinner she nearly choked on her toast. She was so weak that I had to sit there feeding her soup because she couldn’t lift up the spoon long enough to feed herself,”

It was as if James’ whole world had come collapsing down on him all at once. Mortified, he let his head drop into his hands. “Why didn’t she inform me? Am I that pathetic a lover that she would rather suffer in silence than tell me she was ill?”

“Well, to her credit, you don’t exactly look like the most comforting type. When did she move in again?”

“Almost five years ago, it’ll be the anniversary of her first entering the Cortez on the 20th,”

“And how many times in the past five years have you, I don’t know, cuddled with Y/N,”

“You insolent-”

Liz lifted her arms, offering up a white flag. “I’m just asking a question,”

James opened his mouth to offer up a rebuttal but found he had no way to defend himself.

It was true that his relationship with Y/N tended to fluctuate between chaste and lecherous at the drop of a hat. Once they had made love, it was the only habit for him to leave her in bed and return to whatever was keeping him busy at the moment. Post-coital intimacy was simply something he had never experienced or needed. Unfortunately, seeing that the only time he spent with Y/N outside of their trysts were formal meetings or dinners, there had been no time for gentility or softness between just the two of them. If ghosts could blanch, he would have.

Noticing his sudden shift in mood, Liz rose, backing off. “Now, usually I like to stay out of your business, but because your little relationship makes Y/N happy I’ll give you some advice. Go down to the kitchen, have Ms. Evers heat some broth, and give Y/N her dinner personally, maybe even give her some extra attention as a little treat. That should fix the bulk of your issues. Got it?”

He was never one to take orders, but surprisingly James nodded. He stood quickly, smoothing his suit. “Thank you for your advice, Ms. Taylor, but I must depart. My paramour needs me,”

She nodded. “Any time,” James began to hurry down the stairs, but suddenly Liz shouted. “Wait a second,”

James paused. “Yes?”

“Only the living get sick, Mr. March. Maybe, after five years, it’s time for Y/N to extend her stay at the Cortez... permanently. Just something to think about,”

He gave her a sharp nod before disappearing down the stairs to the kitchen. 15 minutes later he was waiting outside your door with a rolling cart in hard. He had already been stalling there for 5 minutes when he finally, with a deep, steadying breath, unlocked the door.

The room was dark and silent, almost like a tomb.

Your voice rang out like a bell as James pushed the cart forward. “Iris?” you called weakly, “is that you?”

“No, darling,” he responded, closing the door behind him. Slowly, he bent down at turned on a small lamp. “You won’t need Iris to bring you your dinner any longer,”

“James,” You whispered, half reverent and half shocked.

He was far too taken aback by the severity of your condition to form an immediate response.

You were curled up in bed, folded in on yourself as you wheezed for breath. As Liz had mentioned your body was weak and wracked with near-constant tremors while you tried your best to prop yourself up on the headboard. James had to abandon the cart with your dinner on it in favor of rushing over and helping you sit up. As he took in your gaunt face, his heart broke.

Your soft voice snapped him from his thoughts.

“Am I dead?”

James shook his head. “No my love, not yet,”

Tears began to spill from your eyes. “I thought you’d left me, James. I thought I was going to have to rot in this awful, dark room for eternity, that maybe ‘cause I died while I was sick my ghost was too damn weak to get up,” As you spoke, you tried to grip the back of his suit, but found you were far too weak to actually hold the fabric. Your inability to even do the simplest of tasks only made you cry harder.

Mr. March was quick to pull out his handkerchief and wipe your eyes. “Oh, my dearest, that couldn’t be farther from the truth, but none of that matters now. I cannot apologize enough for my abhorrent behavior as of late,”

“Will you stay?” your words were laced with desperation, “just for a little bit?”

“Of course, my dearest. I think you’ll find it very difficult to get rid of me from now on. Besides, I couldn’t leave my beloved paramour without doing what it is that I set out to do,”

“Which is?”

James stood and quickly returned with the room service cart. As he removed the silver tray-topper, you found he had brought you a bowl of soup, a small plate of crackers, and a tall glass of ice water.

“I intend to make sure you are well-fed and taken care of,”

“James, you don’t-” you tried to argue, but he cut you off.

“Nonsense! There is, unfortunately, no way to sugar coat this, but I will try my best,” he whispered as he sat on the edge of the bed beside you, “I have neglected you, darling, not just for the past month when I found my pride and ego keeping me away from you, but also for the past five years. I ignored your needs out of a false sense of propriety by bending to rules that are long dead and considered inconsequential. For that, I fear I may never forgive myself. Things will be different from now on, though. I hope to win back your heart properly now that I have realized the severity of my mistakes. Would you…” he paused, gulping, “would you be willing to humor me?”

You offered him a soft smile. “Oh, my beloved Mr. March, there’s no need. My heart has always been yours,”

Your words soothed him, and he offered you one of his debonair grins, the kind where his little mustache scrunched before his lips parted that never failed to sweep you off your feet.

“Now where were we!” he exclaimed.

“Dinner,” you responded.

“Ah, yes! Soup!” He was quick to get a spoonful of the warm broth and bring it to your lips. “You needn’t worry, my sweetling, I watched Ms. Evers prepare this herself. Nothing but the best for you,”

It was easy to accept the spoon into your mouth. Something inside of you knew that James would be taking care of you from now on.

The rest of dinner passed in relative silence, but you didn’t mind, far too tired to take part in any meaningful conversation. Instead, you simply enjoyed the attention. James had never been shy about his affection, but that affection always tended to come in the form of gifts or sex instead of close, intimate touch. It hadn’t bothered you enough to tell him. You always just assumed he didn’t enjoy that kind of love. Now that you’d had a taste, though, of his gentle yet constant affection, you knew you could never get enough.

Too soon the bowl was empty.

James stood, returning to the door with the cart as you relaxed and rolled onto your side. “When will you be back?”

He chuckled, opening the door. “Did you think you could be rid of me so soon, darling?” The cart was quickly pushed out into the hallway as James turned back towards you.

Your face flushed. “I just assumed…”

“Assumptions, assumptions,” he tutted, “It hurts that you have such little faith in me, but I admit I haven’t given you much reason to. As I said, things will be different now,” James perched himself on the edge of the bed with a smile as he untied his shoes and slipped them off.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking off my shoes, darling, so I can join you in bed,”

Your heart skipped a beat. You had been imagining the first time James would actually stay in your bed to cuddle since the beginning of your relationship, but it had been years since you had given any thought to that silly fantasy. Could it really be happening?

Apparently, your surprise was evident on your face because Mr. March paused once both his shoes were settled neatly on the floor. “Is something wrong, my dearest?”

“Nothing, darling, nothing at all,” you were quick to explain, “we’ve just never done this before,”

James smirked like a predator who had just found his prey. “Such an innocent gesture from such a naughty little minx. I don’t recall you being so… flustered the night we met when I took you up to my suite and-”

“James!”

“Alright! Alright, my love, no more vulgarity from me until you’re fully healed and back on your feet. Well, hypothetically on your feet,” he emphasized his words with a dirty wink. Then he crawled into bed beside you as if he belonged there, scootching over until he was resting pressed against your side. You slotted into place, with your face resting in his neck and your leg thrown haphazardly across his hips as if you were made to fit his body. Holding James was like coming home.

You let out a soft, pleased sound at just how good it felt to be held.

James took this as positive feedback. As he settled in, he began running his fingers through your bedhead, combing through the loosest of the knots. Sensing something strange, he paused to put his hand on your forehead. It was uncomfortably hot. “You’re still feverish. Do you need anything? A cold compress? A wet washcloth? Some water?”

It was funny to hear him fussing over you, but it also warmed the deepest parts of your heart.

You made a negative huff against his neck. “No! You’d better not move. Your skin feels too good. It’s nice… cold. The only thing I could possibly want right now is for you to dim the lights and take your damn shirt off so you can cool more of me off,”

“I would, darling, believe me, but there’s just the small issue of the wound on my neck,”

“James,” you glared up at him, “I have literally ripped a dying man’s dick off in front of you. We have dinner with Jeffery Dahmer on your birthday every year, where I have to eat my salad as he zombifies whatever poor sap wandered into Sally’s clutches across the table. Hell, just a few months ago we fucked in that bathtub filled with some businessman’s blood. Your neck is just another part of you, James, it doesn’t bother me. Shirt. Off.”

“Have I ever told you that I adore when you take charge?”

You grinned as he undid his cravat and the top few buttons of his dress shirt. “Once or twice,” The thrill only lasted a moment, though, because before he finished unbuttoning his shirt he pulled away from your arms and got off the bed. A high-pitched whine escaped from your lips. “I thought you said you were staying?”

“I may be a ghost, dear heart, but my clothes can’t just disappear,” Always one for the dramatics, he shed his shirt and suit jacket to the floor with gusto. The sight of his bare torso made your heart beat faster. You had to remind yourself that you were sick and it would probably kill you to go for even a gentle round with Mr. March. Ah, but what a way to die…

James dimmed the lamp before returning, undoing his pants, and stripping down to his boxers. “Is this better for you darling?”

You nodded and reached your trembling arms out to your lover. “Much. Now come back to bed. You have five years’ worth of cuddling to make up for Mr. March, and I don’t intend on letting you wheedle your way out of even a second of it,”

He gave you a gentle smile as he found his way beneath the covers again. “I wouldn’t dream of it,”

Your face quickly found its way back into the crook of James’ neck. It was inhumanly cool, easing the constant burn of your fever and soothing your sore skin. The slit across his throat truly didn’t bother you. As you said, it was just another part of him for you to love, nothing more than a cosmetic imperfection.

Nuzzling closer, you took a deep inhale of his intoxicating scent. Perhaps it was the cologne he wore at the time of his death or even just what he naturally smelled like, but his pulse point radiated notes of sage and bergamot. God, how you loved him.

The pair of you were quiet for a moment with only the sound of your ragged breathing breaking through the air, but something urged you to speak your mind.

“You know, James, when you walked into my room tonight I assumed you were here to kill me,”

He chuckled. “I can’t say I didn’t think about it, my pearl,”

“Of course you did…” you went silent for a moment, “I wouldn’t have minded. This sickness is hell. I’m wasting away by the day and the pain never stops. I don’t mind dying, not when it means I get to spend the rest of time here in the hotel with you, but I don’t want to go out like somebody normal. My death needs to be special… I want to be the crowning glory of your murders, the most fantastic piece of art you’ve ever created,”

Pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your hair, James sighed. “Perhaps it’s selfish of me, but the moment I thought of you, wasting away in the darkness and succumbing to some common germ, I knew I couldn’t kill you. Not yet. I refuse to have my bride accompany me through eternity bearing a constant reminder of my failure,”

Your breath hitched. “Bride?”

Slowly, his hand made its way to your throat. There was no threat in it, he wasn’t using even an ounce of pressure. It was more of a gentle reminder of his presence; a physical conduit of his passion.

“Yes, bride. I don’t mind if you can only become Mrs. March posthumously, though I would prefer to wed you alive and enjoy your last moments of warmth in the throes of carnal delight on our wedding bed, it all depends on where your illness takes you next. Until then I will be glued to your side. No more harm will come to you. I shall nurse you back to health with my own hand so that you glow with life long after your death. Yes, Y/N, your death will come, but not until I have done my best to atone for my mistakes in your life,”

“Was that a proposal?” You gazed up at James with wide, misty eyes.

He huffed out a laugh. “I suppose it was, and a poor one at that! To think I stalled for years in the hopes of finding the perfect moment to present you with my mother’s ring only to pop the question in bed with no ring in sight. I do hope you’ll say yes. I’d be rather crushed if you rejected me after all this time,”

You nodded, small tears escaping as you pressed your face into his soft skin. “Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot. I would’ve married you if you were the poorest man in the world and proposed with a ring-pop,”

“Then it’s settled. You shall be my wife as soon as you are well enough for me to fuck you again! I quite hate that Will Drake, but I believe he’s our best, quickest option if we wish to get you a dress commissioned. I have a few ideas drawn up already waiting in my office… perhaps I should call Ms. Evers and have her take them to him,”

“Shhhh,” you smiled into his neck, pressing a kiss to his collarbone, “we can figure out the details later. For right now, though, your fiancée is sick and she needs some TLC. What are you gonna do about it, Mr. March,”

He growled. “Well, I suppose ravishing you is off the table. Hmmm... what to do to my darling girl to make her feel better?” With a gentle nudge, he tilted your head up and pressed a sweet kiss to your lips.

“That’s a start,”

-------

a/n: I hope you liked it! I’m really leaning towards writing a second part of this where the reader actually dies, so let me know if you’re interested. Also, my requests are open if you want to see any of Evan’s other characters! 

Please don’t post my work to other sites, thank you <3

[sadachmesarthim]

towers for your honeycomb chapter 3: no i do not condone underage drinking i just think it's a good plot devic-

content: the boys have One Beer Each™, peter both sets and completely ignores his own boundaries, author remembers the communion chapter from "how to read literature like a professor" and bastardizes it, both of them have anxiety but neither say anything about it, smoking

words: 2k     song: outskirts of paradise - bad suns     

Looking Tony in the eye was like staring at the sun. Peter could barely hold his gaze, always finding an excuse to turn away.

He was sat in front of the other man a few weeks later, sharing drinks and pizza at a new brewery down the road. It’d cost him his liquor license, and potentially a clean record, if anyone found out, but Richie (their most beloved regular) offered to let the pair try the latest house brew if they ever swung through.

Peter wasn’t one for beer, but he’d accepted Tony’s invite anyway.

He wasn’t entirely sure why. Since their fight, they’d worked all of maybe three hours together. No other shifts, they avoided each other at meetings, and neither were particularly willing to reach out off the clock and apologize.

It was like the world was screaming at them to stay away from each other.

Peter wasn’t sure he wanted to listen.

After his shift that morning, Peter found Tony outside, leaning up against the hood of his car & working through his second cigarette. He drummed on the side of his thigh, keeping his empty hand busy as he waited for Peter to come out. Tony jumped at the sight of him, tossing the half finished cig down a storm drain.

“You know those lead straight to the ocean, right?” There was more amusement than anger behind his words. Peter wasn’t entirely sure what Tony was up to, but he was too tired to start shit. He crossed to the passenger side of his car, tossing his belongings to the floor.

“Even if it didn’t go through the city’s filtration system – fuck the fish.” Peter rolled his eyes. Funny as he was, Tony always had to be contradictory.

“Don’t you have, like, a school of them on your shoulder?” Tony’s normally visible salmon tattoos were safely tucked away behind a denim jacket Peter’d never seen before.

“Irrelevant.” Peter rounded the hood and turned, facing the other man. “Did you need something or were you just here to argue about my town’s plumbing system?” He huffed the words out, arms crossing in front of his chest expectantly.

“I, uh…” He suddenly went silent. The ground crunched under Tony’s feet, gravel scraping asphalt under his shoes. They were a rattier pair he owned – more tape than sole, oil staining the canvas.

“I wanted to know if you’d come to lunch with me. Today. Like, right now?” He hesitated at the last few words, like he wasn’t sure he could say them out loud. “I, uh. I’m pretty sure I have some things to say to you, and Richie’s got some good stuff waiting for us at the Pub House…”

Peter was astounded. “Who are you, and what have you done with my Tony?” My Tony? What? “I- why should I trust you? I’m sure as hell not getting in a car with you.”

Tony’s face fell. A bit of- what, disappointment? flew across his face. Peter would’ve missed it had he not been staring, impatient for his answer. Tony, floundering at the rejection, couldn’t give him one.

“Okay, maybe- how about this. I’ll think about it. Give me five minutes to go wash up and I’ll be back.” He turned & headed inside, not waiting for a response.

The cool water felt good against his burning, salt-stained cheeks. Peter hadn’t realized just how tired he was – opens had always taken it out of him, and the early spring temperatures didn’t always prevent the stand from turning into a heater during rush hour.

The soap in the stand was always too fragrant for his taste, but it did the job – it felt good to wash away the day’s work and come back looking like a new man. He smoothed his eyebrows down and dried himself off, wetting his hair a bit as he finished.

He wound up with grind in it again, brushing it out with a comb he found in the first aid kit. One of these days he was going to have to start wearing hats to work. Shampooing his hair every single day was taking its toll on his curls, and he wasn’t a fan of burnt coffee smell.

Stepping back, he squinted into the warped mirror in front of him. Much better.

Back outside, Tony’d lit up his third cigarette of the day. The shakes’d largely abandoned him, allowing his anxiety to drift inward. The sticks only did so much – he missed the higher, stronger hit of his Suorin, but he was trying to quit (ironically enough).

He was actually able to finish this one by the time Peter made his way back outside, looking significantly better without $5 worth of product on his face.

“Okay, some rules.” He came up, stopping just short of Tony. “You’re paying for both of us. We leave whenever I want, without complaint. We go straight there and come straight back - it’s eight blocks, I don’t want any bullshit scenic routes.” His tone was firm – something Tony’d never encountered with him before. 

“Yes. Yes, anything. Okay.” 

Tony’s car was a lot nicer than Peter anticipated. He’d recently sold his truck, swapping it for a silver Mini Cooper instead. It was a pretty little thing, just up his alley.

It was also fucking obnoxious. He’d bought it with a modified exhaust and had plans to make it even louder. You could almost always hear him coming, little pop pop pops audible for quite a ways. 

It was… less clean than Peter expected. Tony was always so well put together, so well-maintained - seeing stray gum wrappers and drink cups littered around the interior was almost jarring. He didn’t realize he was staring until Tony spoke up. 

“She’s nice, isn’t she?” Peter nodded. He silently took in his new surroundings, nerves on fire. He’d never done well around strangers, in new places. His mind’d always screamed at him, danger unsafe bad run, overriding his sensibilities.

“Hey, are you good? I can take you back if you need.” They’d barely left the Outback parking lot. 

“No- no, I think I’ll be okay. Just… not where I thought I’d end up when I woke up today, y’know?” Peter tried to laugh it off, but he’d always been pretty transparent. 

Tony turned a corner, cutting back into the lot they just came from and turning the car off. “Seriously, Peter. If you don’t want to come to lunch with me just say so. I’ll take you back to your car and we can pretend it never happened.” Okay, seriously, who the fuck is this guy and what did he do with Tony?

“No, I- I think I’m okay. Seriously. Let’s just go and get it over with - I kinda want to hear you grovel anyway.” He settled further into his seat, failing to shake away the agitation. 

The flatbread was actually really good. It was more of a hipster take on pizza - white sauce and pearl onions definitely making it stand out - but it wasn’t a bad lunch by any means. 

The beer definitely wasn’t Peter’s favorite. He was barely sipping by, trying hard to keep a straight face as he swallowed. Damn Richie anyway. 

It’d started off awkward enough - discussing where to sit, small talk about their week, the weather. It felt more like a bad first date than an apology, but- 

“I really am sorry. For what happened in the fridge.” 

Oh. 

“Okay. Why?” Peter tightened the hand around his glass, bracing for Tony’s next words. 

“I.. I was kind of an asshole when I was younger, too. I figured I could make a fresh start here with a brand new town of people that didn’t know or assume anything about me.

“I was doing okay for a little while, too, but I don’t know man I just.. something happened and I just- I don’t know why I’m a dick to you. But I’m trying not to be. This is that, like, ‘first step’, I guess?” Peter nodded along, attentive. 

"So, I don't know. I'm sorry for being a dick to you at work. I'm sorry for being a dick to the girls. I shouldn't yell at you or drag your family into this bullshit - I'm sorry, Peter."

There it was again, that name. His first fucking name. 

“I- thank you, Tony. It’s a start, and I certainly haven’t forgiven you, but… thank you. Seriously.” Tony sighed, shoulders visibly relaxing. Peter let go of his glass and wiped it off, standing and walking around to Tony’s side of the table. 

“Okay then, time for a do-over! Hi, I’m Peter Parker. I’m 19 and I’ve worked at Outback North Espresso for a little over 9 months. What’s your name?” He stuck his hand out, waiting for Tony to make the next move.  

Tony laughed, pushing his chair back and standing to meet the other teen. “Okay, uh, I’m Tony Stark, I’m 18, and I’ve worked at Outback for almost 6. Nice to re-meet you, Peter.” He shook Peter’s hand, awestruck at just how soft it was. He quickly steeled his face and sat back down, releasing Peter and allowing him to do the same. 

Once he was sat back down at his side, Peter looked up, confused. “Wait, you’re still 18?” 

Tony laughed. “Not for long. My birthday’s at the end of next month.” 

“Wow, I can’t believe I’m older than you!” 

Tony rolled his eyes. “That’s - it’s literally three months, that barely counts.” 

Their debate lasted well into the afternoon, alongside several other discussions. Peter’s childhood in Richland, and what it was like growing up there. What Federal Way was like, and why Tony left. Peter could tell he was remaining intentionally vague, but didn’t push it. 

Their beers were warm and the pizza was long gone by the time they abandoned their table. Tony guided him out the back, hand high on his arm. 

Once they were back in the car, Peter’s anxiety returned. It was like he’d spent the last few hours speaking to a completely different person, and now that he was sitting mere inches from Tony… 

He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t. He wasn’t… sure, exactly. What it was. 

Tony spoke up when he noticed the tension in his passenger seat. 

“Hey, we’ll get you back to your car soon, I promise. Eight blocks, remember?” His right hand made its way to Peter’s knee, digging soft circles into the denim. Just like in the fridge.

“Please don’t- don’t touch me. Without asking.” It came out harsher than intended. 

“Okay, all good. No worries. We’re like, two minutes away.” Tony eased off the clutch, turning right out of the parking lot and onto the road. The windows rolled down and Peter let his head fall back in relief. Fresh air always helped him clear his head. 

It really was a short drive - right turn, left turn, right turn - and they were back at Peter’s car. The doors unlocked, and he was out in an instant. A bit too fast to be respectful, if he was being honest, but he knew he needed out. Tony stopped him before he was able to get in his car. 

“Hey, for real. Thank you for today. I’m sorry if it was too much.” 

Peter looked over and down to meet his eyes. “I- yeah, of course. No, yeah, thank you. For the apology. I’m sorry I freaked out on you. But no this- it was good. Yeah. Thank you, Tony.” 

He turned, unlocking the door and closing it before either could say anything else. After turning the key he sped off, without throwing even a glance behind him. 

Tony watched as Peter peeled away, reaching for the box of Pall Malls in his cupholder. He lit one, shifting into first and heading in the opposite direction. 

Not bad. Not good, but not bad. 

lmk if u want on or off the tags list!

@snowstark @kaleidoscopeluli @parkerrbitch @carelessannie​ @bluestarker​ @longlivestarker​ 

[wingsofhcpe]

whumptober day 1- barbed wire

fandom: shadow & bone

pairing: fivan [ivan x fedyor kaminsky]

rating: T+

additional warnings: blood & injury

you can also read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34208404/chapters/85114393

[tagging @camilleisback upon request <3]

It’s days before Ivan finally finds Fedyor.

The druskelle, clever bastards that they are, have elected to hide near the borders with Fjerda and wait for reinforcements rather than make a run for it. There’s an abandoned warehouse that must have once been a butcher’s store near a withering Ravkan village; it’s well-camouflaged between the trees, and the vegetation and snowdrifts muffle the sounds of screaming that echo from inside as the witch-hunters torment their prisoners night and day. The location would have been impossible to hide, had it not been for the honed senses of a Heartrender being able to detect the distressed heartbeats from miles away, as well as an experienced Squaller sensing the slightest vibrations in the air that are commonly caused by loud noises such as screams.

Seven Grisha had been taken captive during the druskelle raid at their camp; when Ivan barrels into the warehouse, druskelle dropping left and right with nothing but a flicker of his wrists, he finds two survivors and five rotting corpses. For a moment, he fears the worst- but as his senses clear and the adrenaline of battle fades, he realises one of the two remaining heartbeats echoing in the dark, murky space, belongs to Fedyor. Ivan’s head snaps like a hound catching the scent of blood, and it is mere seconds before his eyes adjust to the distorted light coming from the busted door, and he finally makes out a shape at the far end of the warehouse. Before he can even think about it, he’s running.

Fedyor’s body is suspended by the wrists from a meat hook attached to the ceiling; it’s bad enough to see his lover limp and unmoving like a corpse, but then Ivan takes a closer look and realises with gut-wrenching horror that Fedyor’s hands aren’t bound with rope but with thick coils of barbed wire. The jagged points have dug deep within the skin, leaving sickening gouges across Fedyor’s wrists and forearms. There’s blood everywhere, having dripped down to his elbows, shoulders and even his hair. It has created a small puddle on the rotting floorboards, and Ivan’s boots squelch as he steps on it, trying to get as close to Fedyor as possible. The latter is nearly unconscious, but he makes a low, keening sound when Ivan attempts, in vain, to undo his bindings. It’s no use; the barbs are embedded deep into the flesh, and trying to uncoil them now will only cause more damage, more bleeding, more pain. They have to be cut away, but Ivan isn’t sure whether any of his Grisha is carrying a blade sharp and slender enough for the job. Either way, his first concern should be getting Fedyor down from where he’s still hanging from; this way, he’ll be able to get a better look.

It’s slow work, painstaking for both parties. Fedyor stirs in and out of consciousness as Ivan works, whimpering and begging for mercy. Ivan realises with a pang of unrestrained fury what a devilishly clever idea it had been to bind a Grisha’s hands in such a manner- Fedyor’s hands are close enough, he could twist them if he tried, he could use his powers to do away with his captors. But the barbed edges would shred his skin further if he did, would cause him to suffer and bleed even more. The druskelle had evidently known that; they had risked their own lives for the sake of toying with their prisoners in such a sadistic, inhuman manner.

Fedyor’s weak, pained cry jolts Ivan out of his fury-addled thoughts, and he realises belatedly that he has pulled too roughly at the wires; fresh blood is trickling from somewhere, and Ivan swears colourfully under his breath.

“I’m sorry, moye serdtse, I’m sorry,” he whispers, hoping Fedyor can hear him, hoping he knows Ivan doesn’t want to hurt him, he just has to get him down for his own good “I’m almost done. Just stay strong for me, Fedya.”

Finally, he manages to pry the hook loose from the wire; Fedyor’s body drops lifelessly, but Ivan is there to catch him and gently lower him to the floor, until Fedyor is lying against his chest. Ivan holds him gently, cradling him against his own body and whispering apologies and reassurances. It’s only then that Fedyor’s eyes open just slightly, brown irises glazed with pain and pupils dilated. His cracked, bloodied lips move, and Ivan has to strain to hear him.

“You found me.” The injured man whispers, and Ivan nods seriously.

“Of course I did, my love. I’m here now. You’re safe.” He doesn’t mention how he’s been too late; how he’s allowed the druskelle to torture Fedyor for four long, endless days. How they have lost five of their own, because Ivan had been too incompetent to find them fast enough.

Yet Fedyor’s mouth twitches into a small, relieved smile. “I knew you would… you always… find me…”

“Shh…” Ivan lays a hand on Fedyor’s cheek, flushed with fever. “Don’t talk now.”

They stay still for a little while; Fedyor’s ragged breathing echoing in sync with Ivan’s relieved sighs as he holds his beloved close, peppering gentle, loving kisses across his bloodied cheeks and brow. Eventually, Ivan carefully places a hand over Fedyor’s still bound wrists.

“I need to take these off.” He says softly, and catches the glint of fear in Fedyor’s delirious gaze. “I cannot lie to you, Fedya, it will hurt. But it will only be for a little while. It’ll feel much better after.”

Fedyor whimpers softly. “…so much. They hurt so much, Vanya. My hands… it feels like they’re on fire…”

“I know, I know.” Ivan voice cracks with despair; seeing Fedyor suffer like this, it’s too much to bear. “I will make it better, I promise. Just… Just trust me, dearest.”

Fedyor’s eyes close, but he nods tiredly; even while in so much pain, he must know there’s no other solution. Ivan takes his kefta off, bundles it up into a makeshift pillow and lays Fedyor down on it as carefully as he can. Then he calls out to one of his Grisha, requesting the sharpest and thinnest blade that can be found in their equipment or the druskelle’s. While rummaging, he takes the opportunity to hastily check on the other survivor, a younger Inferni woman- she’s alive and in slightly better condition than Fedyor, although her hands have been bound in a similar manner. By using her powers to heat them up, however, she has made the wires pliant and thus easier to remove. Clever, Ivan thinks to himself. He would have asked her to do the same for Fedyor’s bonds, but she looks so pale, and she can’t even sit up without feeling faint. No, he can’t run her any more ragged. The dagger will have to do.

Finally, Ivan finds a fine, razor-sharp blade within one of the druskelle’s coats. It’s possibly used for gutting fish, and is less than clean, but it’s his only choice, and anyway, Fedyor’s probably already suffering from an infection judging by the rust that covers the wires. Dried fish gore won’t make a big difference at this point.

“Close your eyes and count to fifty, Fedya.” Ivan encourages as he kneels next to his partner. “Focus on the numbers. Don’t think of anything else.”

Fedyor nods feebly and does as he’s told; his eyes close and his lips begin to move in a voiceless mumble as he starts to count. Ivan slips his fingers carefully between the coils of wire, and as gently as he can, he begins to saw at it with the dagger. No matter how gentle he tries to be, however, Fedyor’s body immediately tenses and his breath comes out in short gasps. Ivan shushes him softly, although he knows it’s not much help. The best he can do for Fedyor now, is focus on his task. And so he does- he does his best to shut off the pained gasps that soon turn into whimpers, and saws methodically at the accursed barbed coil until, little by little, it starts to come off.

“…fifty.” Fedyor murmurs shakily at some point, and Ivan doesn’t have to look to know there are tears running down his blood-crusted cheeks.

“Ten more, moye serdtse. I’m almost done. You’re doing so well. You’re so, so brave, my Fedyenka. So brave.”

Fedyor’s chest heaves as he cries quietly, but he doesn’t complain, not even when Ivan finally cuts through the wires and is able to pull them away. There’s a sickening wet sound as the barbs are pulled free from Fedyor’s flesh, where they’d been wedged for days, and Fedyor’s back arches- for once, he can’t keep in the hoarse scream that rips out of his throat. But the next moment his muscles relax as Ivan unbinds him completely, his fingers twitching slightly in relief as blood circulates back to them. Ivan breathes out a sigh, and places his palm on Fedyor’s forehead.

“I’m done, Fedya. It’s alright now.” Fedyor only shakes his head a little, unable to speak. But his heartbeat has eased just slightly- he’s still in pain, but he’s better.

The group makes camp right there, inside the warehouse (after moving the corpses of the druskelle away and dumping them into a snowdrift to be prey for scavenging animals. Serves them right). They hold a funeral pyre for the deceased Grisha, but Ivan only speaks a few words as the squad’s leader and then retreats back into the building; one of the others has lit a fire in the middle, right under an opening in the rotting roof, using old scraps and thin branches. The interior is warm now, and the smell of burning cloth and wood is chasing away the odour of stale blood and dead bodies. Ivan directs two of the Grisha to stand watch as soon as the funeral pyre outside is done, and focuses on the task at hand.

He digs around the ruins until he finds something that resembles an old, cracked wooden bowl- possibly used by the previous owner of the establishment to collect the majority of the blood that poured from freshly slaughtered cattle. It looks cleaner than one would expect, and it smells only vaguely of blood; nothing a good rinse with snow can’t fix. After that’s done, Ivan refills the bowl with snow and holds it over the fire until it’s turned into warm water. He rummages through the squad’s supplies too, and finds clean cloths and bandages.

Fedyor’s eyes flutter behind pale, close lids when Ivan returns to his side, although he seems to weak to open them. Still, Ivan knows he’s still conscious and in pain.

“I’m going to clean your wounds.” He says softly, sitting next to the other man. Fedyor can only hum in agreement- it’s not like he could move away even if he wanted to. Even if he didn’t know his wounds had to be cleaned before infection set in for real. There was no Healer with them, as conflict hadn’t been expected. It had only been a reconnaissance mission. It would be three days of fast riding at the very best, until they made it back to the Little Palace, and Fedyor wouldn’t last for half of it if Ivan didn’t do something to keep the infection at bay.

So with as much care as he can possibly muster, Ivan takes hold of Fedyor’s hand into his own and lifts it up slowly to take a closer look. Even with the dried blood obscuring the worst of it, Ivan can already tell it’s worse than he’s initially assessed; the cuts are deep, the skin around them swollen and hot to the touch, and there’s white liquid concentrated on the edges of the deeper, wider gashes. Fedyor’s hand is trembling in his own, and Ivan can only imagine how much it truly hurts. Fedyor has a high pain tolerance, yet even for him this must be almost unbearable.

In a desperate attempt to comfort his partner, Ivan starts to hum a slow lullaby as he soaks a strip of cloth in the warm water, then wrings it out and starts to slowly, gently clean the blood and grime away from the cuts. Fedyor lets out a quiet sigh of relief, the clean, warm water immediately doing wonders for his mangled hand. Ivan allows himself a small smile; he doesn’t cease his humming while he continues to carefully clean and bandage Fedyor’s left hand, then his right. All the while he keeps a metaphorical eye on Fedyor’s heartbeat, glad to feel it gradually grow slower and more relaxed. The last thing Ivan does after he’s checked Fedyor for other open wounds (he’s satisfied to find nothing, although the dark bruises on his face, chest and ribs are certainly worrisome), is clean the rest of the blood from his husband’s hair, face, and neck. By the end of it, the water in the bowl has turned from clear to a dark, muddy brown colour. Ivan does away with it as soon as he can- he can no longer stand to look at Fedyor’s blood.

Most of the other Grisha have gone to sleep by now, including the other survivor- a good sign all in all, and Ivan can see from where he stands that her own wounds have also been taken care of. The two Grisha he’d ordered to stand watch are doing so in a perfectly straight posture, even after four gruelling days of riding and searching, and Ivan makes a mental note to mention their names and devotion to the General when they go back to the capital. When he’s certain everything is in order, Ivan finally allows himself to lie down next to Fedyor. The wooden floor is uncomfortable at best, but he doesn’t care. Gently, he slings one arm over his husband’s sleeping form and draws him close. He’s never letting Fedyor go, ever again.

Fedyor hums a little in his sleep, cracking one eye open to look at Ivan. Immediately, he smiles tiredly and Ivan smiles back, unable to begrudge him such a simple pleasure.

“How are you feeling, moye serdtse?” He asks.

“Much… much better.” Fedyor whispers in a relaxed manner. Yet Ivan doesn’t harbour any illusions- he knows the pain and fever will come back with a vengeance soon, and he wants Fedyor to get as much rest as possible until then. He’ll need it. So he places a chaste kiss on Fedyor’s lips and starts filing his hand through the latter’s hair. Predictably, Fedyor submits to the affections; Ivan knows how to best make him relax, even under such conditions.

“Sleep.” Ivan whispers tenderly, and Fedyor nods. Before he closes his eyes again, Fedyor offers him another small smile.

“I knew you’d find me.” He mouthed, and Ivan nodded, pride and love and devotion swelling in his chest.

“Of course, my love. I will never leave you. I promise.”

Even if the whole Ravka, the whole world, was against them, they believed in each other. And in the end, that was that really mattered.

[nekowriteshaikyuu]

masks

just a little gift to congratulate you

pairing : sakusa x reader

warnings: fluff(i guess)

summary : you made masks in congratulations for making it to the nationals, adding little designs for a cute touch-up.

a/n: thank you for your request  @cleopatera ! sorry it took a while T^T been caught up with school and piles of  homework. but i hope this is okay !! lowkey had a brain lag when i thought if i wanna write sakusa making it to the japan’s national team or the spring inter high national. but yep hope you enjoy it X33.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ sakusa kiyoomi ♥ 

you plopped onto your bed, slamming your face to your pillow as you scream with joy. the little message you received from your husband got you all riled up at 12am in the morning. Sakusa made it to the japan’s nationals team. It wasn’t surprising to him but ever since your newlywed, he’s always been working very hard, practices after practices which drained him almost everyday. You rolled to make yourself face the ceiling, staring into it like some black hole was gonna appear and suck you up. you’ve never been this proud for him to make it this far. your phone suddenly sent another ding, earning a second text from your husband

‘think i’m short of masks, could you go get some at the store?’

since he’s very hygienic, a mask was a must have with sakusa all the time, wherever he goes. But it’s a hassle that all he wear is disposable ones. It requires to buy boxes after boxes every single time he runs out, to the point the store clerk would always ask if you needed more every time you went out for grocery shopping.

you got up from bed and walked out the room, heading to your bag that was set on the dining table. Your hand rustled in your bag, searching for your purse to retrieve money , until an idea popped up in your head. Recently, you’ve been a fond of up cycling videos, reusing old clothes to create bucket hats, small bags, and even masks.

you stopped your tracks before pulling out your phone and clicking to the video you watched earlier about making diy masks. You took note of the materials needed before rushing back into the room, pulling out your sewing machine and a few scrap fabrics. You began to follow the video step by step. Snipping fabrics, cutting loose threads. The sound of the operating sewing machine filled the whole room. You sat at your seat, making about five reusable mask. Each of the mask has a small embroidery at the corner. The msby logo, umeboshi, a volleyball, his name and the date of when you both were announced husband and wife. You sighed with relief and smiled after snipping off the last loose thread. you slowly began pack them in a box, slipping in a small congratulations note before sealing it with wrapping paper.

You wiped all evidence of you making the mask, keeping everything back in place. You set the box at the dining table, before patiently waiting for sakusa to come home. After an hour, you heard the keys rattle as it struggled to unlock the front door. The door swung open, and your tall, beloved husband walked in, taking his shoes off and keeping them in the shoe rack, then spraying himself with disinfectant spray.

“welcome home, oomi ! how was practice?” You played, kicking your legs in the air as you asked him questions about his day. Sakusa only nodded, slowly peeling the mask that was on his face before disposing it into the bin. He walked over to you, only to stop in front of the eye-catching box that was ready to be pried open. He didn’t utter a word before slowly unwrapping the box, and opening it.

“ did you get masks like i told you to?” He asked as he continues to unwrap more paper. You only shrugged, watching him open his surprise gift. He held onto the small note, reading the words inked on it.

‘Congratulations, my love ! Never this proud of you, you’ve work so hard ! much love, y/n’

he pans his head down to the box again, his eyes met up with the hand sewed masks. He held one up, grazing over the embroidery. He digs out for the rest, observing the fine details of every embroidery. Until he reached the mask with the initials of the day you both got married. He was silent. He barely moved, which got you concerned.

“I-is everything alright?” You started to doubt yourself. You looked at sakusa, biting your bottom lip as thoughts that he may not like it comes rushing down.

“y-you don’t have to use it you know, i just thought you deserve a gift for making it to the..nationals.” you played with your fingers. Sakusa placed all the masks he was holding on the table, before walking over to you. He grabbed onto your arm, making you stand. With quick motions, he wrapped his arms around your waist, nuzzling his head onto the crook of your neck.

“thank you..so much, y/n. i love it. It’s amazing” you could feel the warmth of his breathe on your neck. You only smiled before running your fingers through his soft curls, your other hand rubbing his back. He lifted his head to look at you into the eye, before placing a kiss onto your forehead and flashing a soft smile.

“I should make more ! Oh, maybe i can even sell it !” Your suggestion only got sakusa to frown. he shook his head in disagreement and you pout from his respond.

“No. no one can have your mask creation, but me.” he said. You could feel your cheeks turning red, blushing from his cheesy words. you lightly hit his arm, his tough biceps enduring the light smack.

he pulled you in for another hug, swaying you both side to side slowly as you both melt in each other’s touch.

“Thank you, again.” you felt sakusa’s hand caress your hair, sending you butterflies into your stomach

you couldn’t wish for anything better, but to have sakusa by your side for eternity.

------𝕤𝕒𝕜𝕦𝕤𝕒 𝕜𝕚𝕪𝕠𝕠𝕞𝕚------

a/n: did yall watch the schwieden vs msby v.league? i honestly fell asleep for half the round but i came back alive to watch the remaining of the live. it was pretty intense but everyone on court look like they enjoyed themselves a lot and it’s so cute lmao. (also one guy in the schwieden team looks like terushima from his hair oop-). 

~ Bonus (because why not :p) ~

“sakusa ! Is that a new mask ?!” Hinata bugged in to ask just as sakusa appeared infront of the locker room. Atsumu glanced over to see a mask with a date embroidered on it, knowing very well what the date meant.

“did your beloved wife made that? How adorable, omi-kun~” atsumu cooed and sakusa clicked his tongue in annoyance. Bokuto jumped in to add on how cute you were to make a reusable mask for your husband who’s been using disposable ones all his life. Sakusa only walked by these people to get ready for practice, slowly taking of the mask and folding it before storing it in a zip lock bag to keep it clean.

“Omi-kun you’re very fond of y/n.” Atsumu teased. Sakusa only stood up and narrowed his eyes towards him.

“say another word and disinfectant spray will go into your eyes” sakusa warned and atsumu only giggled, skipping out of the locker room.

But sakusa can’t deny it though, as much as he doesn’t show affection on the outside, just the sight of you riles him up real hard.

[vegalocity]

The Forest (Red Groom AU)

So i was like ‘I should rewatch the Princess Bride again before I jump back into this fic series’. So I re-read my own series as to remember where I was at, rewatched the Princess Bride, and blacked our for a few hours. And when I woke up I found this on my word processor lol

Also catch me messing with everyone ELSE’S dialogue but keeping the Prince’s 100% just Prince Humperdink’s lines so i don’t have to give him a personality (hats off to @starsfic for reminding me of the obvious ‘you don’t have to cast him at all’ thing)

--

The spotty light of the forest faded into the pitch of night as down, down the prince fell. By the time he hit the ground there was only the faintest patch of sunlight shining through the very sinkhole he'd fallen into.

Prince Red Son cursed his luck thrice times over as he took in the dark world around him, the caves surrounding him seemed to be more burrowed into the ground than they were naturally forming, which spelled both good and bad.

“Red Son! Can you hear me?! Are you alright?!” he heard Xiaotian's voice echo from above and the part of him that was still riding the high of his love being alive, and what's more still just as in love with him as he was, swooned at the care in his voice. If they had been safe at the time and Red Son allowed to linger on the feeling, he was sure he would feel much that of a child positively drowning in the ardor of their first love.

As it was he had to repress the feeling as much as he could. Later. When they were safe.

“I'm fine!” His legs felt like liquid beneath him but he was able to keep on his feet. “I think this is a burrow of some kind!”

“A burrow? Like an animal made that thing?! Hold on I'm coming down there-”

“I can climb back up!” The words came out before he really thought about them, driven mostly by pride; the prince had been dealing with being passed around his captors for the better side of two days now, and though he trusted Xiaotian with his life easily, the fact remained that he'd been at a distinct physical disadvantage with his magic restrained as it was.

And he was kind of tired of being helpless.

“Red,” And my, did the shortened version of his name sound intimate when spoken like that “-you could barely stand! You're injured it's okay! I'm coming down and getting you!”

“I'm not a child Xiaotian,” he just needed to figure out how to get back up without injuring himself further. Now, it wasn't a vertical drop, else he would have probably broken something on the descent down “Just allow me a moment to think of something!”

Now, it wasn't vertical but it WAS too steep a drop to easily climb by hand, he'd need something to act as ballast, like a rope of some kind-

“....You said your copy of the Monkey King's staff can grow or shrink, yes?”

“I....did?”

“Can you extend it down here so I can use it as a ballast to climb?”

“Oh! Yeah probably!”

Now he'd probably need something to ensure if he grip slipped he wouldn't fall for too long and injure himself like a fool once again. Now he hadn't had a lot on hand when the Spider Queen and her mercenaries had apprehended him—barely more than the simple travel clothes he'd been wearing—and what else he'd had had been lost in his captors' desperate fleeing from his love, so other than what he had in his pockets his only set of tools was the clothes on his back.

Ah! But he DID have the clothes on his back did he not? He shed the thin overcoat he'd been allowed after the Spider Queen had searched him for weapons and once the golden ended staff entered his sight he looped the body of it around the staff, and tied it off before tying the sleeves around his torso.

“Okay hold it steady!”

“Got it!”

Admittedly it wasn't the easiest climb, his arms still ached from his self inflicted burns, his legs still trembled from the force of the fall, but before too long had passed mottled daylight was around him again and he took Xiaotian's hand as he was pulled back over the ledge.

“Thank you.” Though he'll admit without most of his magic at his disposal he was tiring rather quickly. He held himself together infront of Xiaotian as his lack of firepower was already embarrassing to be caught by someone so important to him with, but being winded by a simple climb was a humiliation he'd like to be spared of.

“Anytime.” Xiaotian huffed a sigh “But if those are burrows down there we should really get out of this forest quick as we can-”

“And head off to your mountain?” the idea of Xiaotian, his humble noodle boy, having an entire mountain of his own to rule over (temporarily? He had no idea if Sun Wukong would want it back by the time his pilgrimage was complete or not) was such a strange concept, he wasn't sure if it had become quite real for him yet.

“Yup!” Ah, that sweet chipper tone, so sorely missed in the five long years they'd been apart and-

Wait...

“...You're going to tell your fathers as well right?”

Xiaotian paused, and he could see him pale a bit from his stance.

“...Oh man I really AM a dead man when they get ahold of me.”

He couldn't help the laugh at the idea, Xiaotian in that full Monkey King transformation sitting in the Inn all crumpled in on himself like a scolded child, with either of his parents just ripping into him.

“...Wow...” Xiaotian sounded breathless and when Red Son looked open him for a moment he was struck by the greatest sense of Déjà vu. That quiet afternoon in the inn when he'd glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and known his heart, But here was that look once more, in this darkened forest so long later.

“What?”

“Nothing I just... forgot how much I loved your laugh.” Xiaotian reached up and rubbed at his neck, a bashful grin making his cheeks turn pink, and Red Son felt his own face grow warm in response. Damn Noodle Boy still knew exactly what to say to make him a mess- “It's honestly so cute. That crazy cackle-”

-Nevermind. He scowled and now it was Xiaotian's turn to laugh.

“No I mean it! I love how wild it is!” He folded his arms and huffed, but didn't stop Xiaotian as he untangled them to link one of Red Son's arms in his own. “You throw your entire self into absolutely everything! It's admirable! And you already know how much I love your passion-” Dammit.

“We should try to find somewhere relatively safe before nightfall hits. Who knows what other dangers there are here.” He sniffed, as primly as he possibly could.

“Whatever they are we can handle it!” Xiaotian chirped in response, almost too optimistic, especially granted he'd JUST been saying that they should leave as fast as possible.  

“I mean whatever made those burrows probably left awhile ago if so much plant matter had built up over them as to cover the air vents like that.” That was true-

“Well, what about the R.O.U.S? Isn't this their migratory region?”

“The Rodents of Unusual Size?” Xiaotian shook his head “I've passed through this forest before, never ran into them, I don't think they're anything but rumor.”

And then they pounced on them.

The Rodents of Unusual Size were pack animals so when they descended on the two of them they did so at least a dozen in number. Their most bold had tackled Xiaotian to the ground and and its size—roughly that of a small wheelbarrow—had sent him grappling with the creature, trying to get it off him and draw his staff at once.

Before the rest of the pack made its move Red Son gave the one on his love a swift kick, sending it yelping and scurrying off to regain its strength. Then the others began to descend on them. Xiaotian had drawn his staff in the respite and gotten back to his feet, but the most Red Son could improvise as a weapon was a nearby branch that had fallen from a tree.

He felt pathetic in comparison to Xiaotian at his back.

He hadn't even gotten out of the damn sinkhole without help. Sure it had been his plan but-

Xiaotian moved not flawlessly, he hadn't been combat trained when he'd left, and he'd only been trained by Sun Wukong for a short while before they'd parted ways, he'd gained his skills on the way instead of having them trained into him, and Red Son had fallen out of weaponry while he'd still been a boy.

One of the rodents lunged for him and he barely swiped the branch quick enough to bat it away. He sensed one nearing his blindspot and turned just a bit to keep it in his sight-

-and felt Xiaotian push him out of the way as another rodent lunged upon his turned back.

The grunt of pain-

The smell of human blood-

Xiaotian was knelt on the ground at his side, struggling with a rodent that had its teeth buried into his shoulder.

It was instinct, not emotion, not intent. The bone deep—soul deep—need to protect all he held dear, the memory of despair, the memory of joy. The words 'True love' spoken so matter of fact and plain. A simple statement of what was real instead of a challenge or declaration.

Seeing and smelling his blood and the very real danger and he'd been protecting him this was his fault he couldn't die like this he couldn't live to make his way back and return to Red Son just to die like this and have it be HIS FAULT-

Fire.

The golden bands on his wrists glowed, then shuddered-

-and then they broke.

And there was fire.

The rodent on Xiaotian was burned and burned and kept burning, the flames encompassing the creature, but never once touching his beloved, and not once daring to burn their master after they'd been forced to disobey him for the length of two days.

The rodent dropped twitching and smoldering and when he looked up, eyes burning and glowing from the power he'd been forced to restrain for far too long, the remaining rodents had scurried off to their holes. Fearful and skittish of the power that had been released.

“Woah...” Xiaotian's voice cut through the roar of the flames still crackling up his arms and it felt so right it hurt that he'd gone any time at all without it as it should be.

Though he still felt a weak ache in his limbs, his fire allowed to spring forth at his command once again was doing quite a lot to quell the pain, and he offered his hand to his love.

“We should leave before they come back.”

Xiaotian took his hand and stared as though he'd never seen him before.

“Is something wrong?”

“I just... I never saw you fight before I guess.” Xiaotian gripped his sluggishly bleeding shoulder. Red Son removed his thin coat again to try and treat the wound, though it was a bit challenging as they continued their trek.

Soon enough the forest was beginning to thin, and the dim light of dusk made strange shadows pass across the world. They were nearing Flower Fruit Mountain if Xiaotian's estimate was anything to go by, and hopefully that would mean they were soon to be safe-

But then came the sound of horses.

“Pull your sleeves down.” Xiaotian whispered urgently. “If thats your fiance make him think you still don't have your fire.”

Red Son cursed the fact that he hadn't thought of that first. Nonetheless he did as directed, and let Xiaotian pull him protectively behind him.

And there were horses, and warriors, and a macaque with fur black as pitch, and leading the caravan was his fiance.

“Surrender.” The prince demanded the second they got near.

“Oh, you wish to surrender to me?” Dammit Xiaotian. “Very well, I accept.”

His fiance looked vaguely amused, but only vaguely. “I give you full marks for bravery, but don't make yourself a fool.”

He'd never known the man before now, this being Red Son's first time gazing upon the prince his parents had decided to be his betrothed, and the prince's eyes on him as well.

Red Son wasn't the best at parsing out emotions, but he knew the prince had hired the Spider Queen to kill him, so he knew the thing that looked like desire in the prince's eye was nothing but bloodlust. He wanted not him, but his parents' army, and he was willing to slaughter anyone who stood between him and that goal.

“Ah, but we know the secrets of the forest! We could live there comfortably for days without you and yours finding us!” Red Son could see the blood starting to seep back out of Xiaotian's shoulder as he drew his staff again. “So if you wish for a death at the hands of the R.O.U.S packs, please be my guest and feel free to visit!”

“I tell you once again, surrender!” his betrothed stressed, and Red Son saw movement from the corner of his eye. Xiaotian couldn't turn his head from the prince, but he could see the prince had brought archers with him. Many archers. Archers whom had peeled away from the caravan before their approach.

Xiaotian was not immortal. Or maybe the Monkey King had taught him to be in the first way he had learned to be immortal for his aging to cease, but if he was he wasn't invulnerable.

“That won't be happening.” He could make a ring of fire around the both of them and spread it out to destroy any arrows that came into their path and then expand it forward to knock back their foes, But then they'd have only a small opening, and their only option would be to retreat back into the forest and hope to loose his fiance, maybe in the burrows of that large unknown creature? But that risked Xiaotian being wrong about it being some time since said creature had been there and risk the wrath of a huge underground creature likely out for blood at two tiny by comparison beings invading its home.

“For the final time, surrender!” the prince barked and with a flourish drew his sword from its sheath. The black furred macaque at his side drew a staff from his person,  spiked at either end, and shot them both a wicked grin, but it was Red Son's eye he held.

The macaque took one hand away from his weapon to reach beneath his shirt, and what he pulled out made Red Son's only plan null. A fire resistance spell scribbled on a small block of wood, and another pair of those damned golden cuffs. He'd be restrained again in an instant if he couldn't even injure anyone and he'd be just as helpless as before, but this time at a heavy disadvantage with his love injured, it would only be hours before they caught up with them, if even that.

“Death first!” Xiaotian cried, holding up the staff and ready to charge-

“You have to swear you won't hurt him!” The words ripped from his lungs before he had a chance to truly consider them.

“What did you say?” The prince broke his gaze with his love and raised a brow at him.

“Red Son...?” Xiaotian's voice was so quiet, so confused...But that didn't matter. If it saved his life then he refused to regret it.

“....I'll go with you. We'll surrender and I'll let you take me back to your mountain, but you must swear you won't hurt this man.”

He'd been useless ever since he'd been kidnapped by those damned mercenaries, he'd relied on Xiaotian to survive the forest—whom had needed to get hurt before he could even gain a fighting chance at being his equal again—and now he couldn't get them out of his fiance's clutches together.

If he went back with the prince he'd be killed and his death blamed on whoever the Prince wished to destroy with his parent's army but-

-but he knew his limits.

“I swear it on all I hold dear.” His fiance responded.

“He has his own mountain to return to, you must let him return in peace.”

“It will be done.” his betrothed agreed, he turned to the macaque and murmured something to him, but all he could hope for is that this prince wasn't an oathbreaker-

-not like he'd turned out to be.

Xiaotian was staring at him, his wide dark eyes hurt and uncomprehending and it was so unfair that this was how it had to end. That he'd only had him back for such a short time before he had to choose to give him up.

But...

“When I thought you dead it nearly destroyed me.” he forced his voice to remain firm, no matter how much his heart hurt at what must be done. “I cannot survive that a second time.” and he knew he couldn't.

But he was a selfish demon after all, because despite his actions, and his willingness to give himself over to his betrothed, Red Son still desired one last fleeting moment with his love.

The kiss was soft, Xiaotian's calloused hands gripped loosely in his own and he prayed he would remember the feeling and never forget his warmth. Whether he was killed by his betrothed, fought back long enough to be kept alive and announced dead and forever kept in a basement somewhere, or yet worse live a long healthy life beside a demon king he didn't love, and never able to see Xiaotian again.

“If this is all I can do for you, then please, let me save you.” his voice was barely over a whisper, any louder and his voice would crack and wobble with emotion.

“...As you wish.”

And then there was a hand on his shoulder that was not Xiaotian's. It was cold and slick, like the scales of a reptile.

And so, leaving the keeper of his heart behind, Red Son pulled away from Xiaotian, and got on the horse offered to him.

And if there was a thin yet steady plume of steam trailing behind his steed, well... nobody bothered to say anything.

–

And Xiaotian was left standing alone as the keeper of his heart turned himself in to what was no doubt his own execution.

His sluggishly bleeding shoulder gave a thin throb of pain as a few of the prince's caravan followed Red Son and that wretched prince, but staying behind were a majority of the archers and the black furred macaque.

“Well, guess we should be getting you back to your mountain then.” The Macaque drawled, leaned back casually on his own horse and hiding his staff only now. His strangely shaped ears twitched as Xiaotian took a step forward. Wait- Not strangely shaped, there were three of them. Three on either side.

“We're men of action. Lies don't suit us.” He'd responded simply, and the Six eared macaque grinned that wolfish grin at him again. And sure enough he felt a few groping hands as a couple brave archers grabbed him and bound his hands behind his back.

“Love that staff by the way. Looks quite a lot like one an old friend of mine used to wield. But like, a crappily made cheap replica of it.” The Macaque hummed and took the staff from the ground after he'd been forced to drop it. “Way lighter too. Don't even need to have stolen anybody's powers for it!” After a beat the Macaque met his gaze, and he must have been making a bit of a face because he suddenly looked off his game. “What?”

“Six-Eared Macaque was it? I know someone who's been looking for you.” The swordsman flashed in his mind, the scar on her shoulder, the fierce determination in her eyes, that masterful, artistic swordplay. She'd had every moment of her confrontation with this macaque planned out for a decade, right down to what she would say to him.

He hoped she found out where he was and got her revenge from it. She deserved to, she seemed like the kind of person Xiaotian would have gotten along with swimmingly if they'd known eachother under better terms.

The Macaque growled and swiped out with his staff, knocking him on the side of his head.

And as his vision swam, as the world grew dark, he heard the macaque growl:

“Take him to the pit of despair, Looks like we've got a new test subject.”

He missed Red Son.

[mypoisonedvine]

Sessions with August | August Walker x Reader -- Chapter 1

This is something I’ve been working on for a while with my bestie @nuns-and-roses​!  We will be posting some future chapters from her blog so give her a follow for more of this (and also lots of amazing fics).

Summary: As a CIA psychiatrist, most of your clients are aggressive, intimidating, maybe even a little threatening.  But none of them are quite like August Walker.  You were trained to trust your gut and remove yourself from any situation that made you uncomfortable.  If you had followed that training, maybe you could’ve saved yourself from the twisted world he planned to bring you into…

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: mentions/descriptions of childhood abuse; no smut in this chapter but there will be eventual non-con/heavy dub con and lots of dark themes like manipulation, gaslighting, stalking, etc.  Discretion is advised.

Session 1 - October 9th 

You only had five minutes between sessions each day, and it was a very important time.  As a psychiatrist seeing patients, there is limited time to oneself.  Your patients become a part of you, and you assume an identity at work that often follows you home.

Reserved, kind, patient.  Every single word, every movement, was an act.  And it's not that you were really lying or manipulating your patients, it's just that you had to close off most of yourself to them.  It was how both of you were protected.

In five minutes, you had time to step out of that persona while you sorted your files and grabbed a quick snack.  You contemplated between a granola bar or clementine, eventually choosing the latter, though you had to wash your hands to get off the sticky residue of the acidic peel.

As you washed your hands, you contemplated yourself in the mirror.  You had put a lot of thought into your look for this persona.  To save time and energy, you wore the same thing every day: your closet was all black pencil skirts, white button-downs and black blazers, with only a little space for your off-work clothing (which never got much use).  In winter you added thick stockings to keep from freezing during the walk to and from your car, but otherwise it remained the same.  Even the jewelry-- freshwater pearl studs and a dainty gold tennis bracelet-- remained the same, along with your beloved pair of Italian leather heels which weren't so high that you felt overdressed, but just high enough that you felt taller, and perhaps a bit sexy though you knew that shouldn't matter.

The goal was to look neutral, to not have your appearance distract in any way.  To blend in.  It had actually been sort of difficult to perfect one makeup look that you could put on quickly before work, but you'd managed.  Your hair was probably what you spent the most time on each morning, since it had to be pulled back pretty tight and you wanted every single hair to be in place.

Checking the clock, you saw that it was about time to call in your next appointment.  It was a new patient, a somewhat recent recruit that had already garnered a bit of a reputation.  From what you'd heard he was incredibly ambitious to the point of being a bit cutthroat.  What the rumors had failed to mention, you realized as you opened the door to guide him in from the waiting room, was that he was hot.  And not just "hey, good for you!" hot, but "how am I expected to get any work done in these conditions?!" hot.  You introduced yourself with a firm handshake and tried not to think about the size of his hands or the strength of his grip.

"Mr. Walker, please, have a seat," you encouraged, motioning to the room.

"Which one?" he asked, noticing the menagerie of chairs and sofas in your office.

"Ah, yes, this may be strange if you're used to a more... clinical space," you nodded.  "Sit wherever you'd like.  Whatever looks most comfortable to you."

He examined his options and seemed to be putting more thought to it than most did.

"This is a test, isn't it?  You want to see what kind of person I am by what I pick?" 

You laughed.  "No, I just want you to have options."

He settled for a high back chair which normally made people look kind of short but his body barely fit into it.  He made it look like a toy chair for a child.

"Is that your final answer?" you asked with a smile.

"I knew it was a test," he frowned.

"It's really not," you laughed, "I just want you to be comfortable."

"Tell me what it says about me.  What do you know because I picked this chair?" he demanded, apparently not believing you that it wasn't a test.

"What do you think it says about you?" you asked instead.

He thought about that for a second.  "I guess I'm probably more… structured than the guy who picks the bean bag.  More formal."

You nodded. "That makes sense."

"Who picks the bean bag anyway?" he smirked.

"Almost no one picks the bean bag."

He smiled, and it looked a little rehearsed.  But it was only the first day, so maybe he would open up over time.

“What are we supposed to do in here?” he asked, looking around as if he was expecting something he could see to explain therapy: did he think you were going to give him shocks or something?

“Well, that’s sort of up to you, Mr. Walker.  The goal of these sessions is really just for you to have time each week that you can spend however you’d like.”

“Really?  I could just come in here and read a book or whatever?”

“Yes, although I can’t promise you that would be the best use of your time.”

“Could I clean my gun?” he pressed.

You tried not to have a strong reaction.  Then again, that could describe a lot of your sessions.  “I personally would prefer that you didn’t, to be honest.” He smirked. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of guns.”

“No, I’m not,” you answered honestly, “but I think it’s better for you if this time feels distinct from your work.  I know that can be difficult since this is happening through your work and is being funded by your work and we work in different wings of the same building…”

“I don’t need time away from my job.  I love my job.” “I’m glad to hear that.  I love my job, too, but I would have to say that it is important to my health that I get some time separate from that.”

“Your job is way worse than mine,” he grinned.

“Really?” you smiled back. “A lot of people would say my job is easy.”

“Listening to these crazies bitch all day?  I’d lose my mind,” he chuckled.

“Who said I hadn’t lost mine?” you smirked.

//

Session 2 - October 16th

“You’re wearing the same thing as last time,” he noticed instantly.  It usually took a few sessions for someone to notice.  Had he really spent so much time looking at you that he remembered what you’d worn?

“Yes, I am,” you agreed.

“Lucky coincidence?” he asked.

“No, I actually wear the same clothes every day,” you corrected.  He gave you a confused look.  “It saves me time in the morning.”

“That’s it?  You wear the same outfit every single day, just to save time in the morning?”

You looked to the ground, questioning how honest you should get.  But how could you expect him to be honest with you if you couldn’t open up in this one little way?

“Clothing is a form of self-expression, and these sessions aren’t about expressing my self,” you explained.  “I’d hate for my clothing choices to become a distraction.”

He looked you up and down and you felt more observed than you preferred to be. 

“What you’re wearing now is plenty distracting on its own,” he said darkly.

You shifted in your seat.  You felt very observed, more than you preferred to be.

“I’m… sorry to hear that,” you awkwardly replied.

“Don’t be sorry,” he shrugged.

“What… what were we talking about before?” you asked awkwardly.  

//

Session 3 - October 23rd

“Good afternoon,” you smiled, extending your hand for a handshake.  Why did you feel a little awkward when he shook your hand in return?  “How are you doing?”

“I’m alright, thanks for asking,” he smiled.  “How about you?”

“Well, thank you,” you answered warmly, taking your seat.  “So, what do you want to talk about today?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged.

“Well, it’s up to you to guide the discussion wherever you want it to go.”

“What do the superiors think we should be talking about?” he asked, sounding a little incredulous.

“Do you think I get notes from your managers on what to discuss with you?”

“I… sort of assumed,” he admitted.

“I don’t.  This is your time.  Use it however you’d like.”

The way he looked at you made you wonder if he was going to take that a little too seriously.

“I guess you want me to talk about my traumatic childhood or something?” 

“Well, if you’d like to…”

August looked at where his shoe was propped over his other knee, bouncing it as if he was nervous.

“It’s only our second session,” you dismissed.

“Right, right,” he responded, sounding like he was deep in thought.  “I don’t want to burden you…”

“Burden?  August, never worry about that.  It’s my job.  I’m here to help you.”

He looked up at you again, something broken and hollow in his expression.  “It’s… upsetting.”

“Try me.”

He took a shaky breath, rubbing his hands together.  You furrowed your brow at the complete 180 in his body language. 

“Well,” he began slowly, “I always knew something was wrong when I was a kid.  I knew that that wasn’t how things were supposed to be, even if it was the only thing I’d ever known.”

He narrowed his eyes like he was thinking, then glanced over to the window.

“I knew there wasn’t supposed to be blood on the walls,” he recalled with a shockingly-neutral expression, “I knew there was something wrong…”

You nodded but said nothing, wanting to let him finish this train of thought before you contributed.

“My mother…” he continued, his voice getting darker, “she was troubled, I suppose.  She hated me.  I don’t know what I did that made her hate me so much.  She was good at putting on a face for other people, hiding my cuts and bruises so people wouldn’t ask questions.  But in those days, no one was really asking questions anyway.  Children were property, and women were always doing right by their children no matter what they did.”

You waited for the silence to steep for a while before you commented.  “That sounds… terrible,” you replied quietly, “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” he responded with a curt nod.

“Where was your father in all this?”

“Who knows?”

“He wasn’t in the picture,” you presumed.

“No, he lived with us.  He just… wasn’t there.  I guess he didn’t see anything wrong with it.  She always had dinner ready on the table when he got home, and past that, he barely even acknowledged my existence.  I guess he trusted her to raise me.  I tried to tell him a few times, but he just told me to respect my mother.  He just wanted me to leave him alone.”

“Do you have any memories of time alone with your father?”

“No,” he said like he was realizing it for the first time.  “No, I don’t think I was ever alone with my father.”

You decided to let that one sit, hoping to let him continue without you prompting him.

“Every day was hell with her,” he finally added after a moment.  “It was always something.  No matter what I did, I had always done something wrong.  She didn’t always beat me… sometimes she would burn spices and blow the smoke in my face.  Sometimes she would make me kneel on uncooked rice.  Mostly it was just beatings, though.  I lost a lot of my teeth early because of it.  And I’m still deaf in this ear,” he explained, motioning to his left ear.

“Wow,” you whispered.  “Did no one ever stick up for you?  Nobody ever questioned your injuries, like a doctor, maybe?”

“I didn’t see a doctor until I was an adult,” he laughed coldly.  “She didn’t believe in that.  She thought it was all part of the mind, I think-- that every health problem was just an outward reflection of all my inner faults.  Thankfully, I never came down with anything too serious.  She was always able to nurse me back to health, even when I got what I realize now was almost certainly pneumonia.”

“Was she more caring when you were ill?”

“Not exactly a warm-and-fuzzy type, but yes, she was gentler.  She didn’t beat me until I was well again.”

“How generous,” you groaned with an eyeroll.

“I know, but you learn to appreciate the little things,” he explained. “You must have clung to any affection from adults that you could,” you offered.

“Yes, I did.”

“That seems like a reasonable response.”

“Yes…” he repeated, something darker crossing his tone, “but it can be dangerous, chasing down affection…”

You shuddered a little, but suppressed it.  You wanted to explore that statement more, but a glance at the clock revealed you didn’t have even close to enough time to dig into it.  

“Sounds like something we can pick up with next week,” you said lightly.

“Oh, is it already time?”

“Getting close to it,” you nodded.  “I don’t want to cut you off or anything.  This has been really productive.  I feel like I’m getting to know you better.”

“Yeah,” he smiled, “ditto.”

“And before we wrap up, I just want to say a few things, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, go ahead.”

“First, thank you for sharing this with me.”  

He nodded in acknowledgement.

“Second, I want to tell you that you didn’t do anything to make your mother hurt you like that.  There’s nothing you could’ve done to justify that… you were a child.  You were her child.  She was supposed to take care of you, and she didn’t.  And it wasn’t because you did something wrong, but simply because there are awful, evil, sick people in this world who do terrible things to innocent people.”

He looked taken aback by that.  “Nobody’s innocent.”

That wasn’t the response you expected.  Most people hear “it’s not your fault” and brush it away, say that they know that even if they don’t, say that they’ve heard it all before.  Had August not heard this before?  Was this the first time someone was responding this way?  Worse, was this the first time he’d told someone at all?

“August, you were a child.  You were innocent.”

He nodded, but didn’t seem super convinced.

“And, lastly,” you finished with a sigh, “does this time next week work for you?”

//

Sometimes, you just have that itch in your brain, and you need to scratch it.  On your way to your car from your office, you found yourself taking a detour to the records office, and leaning on the desk of the receptionist there.

“Good evening, Melissa,” you greeted.

“Oh, hey!” she smiled back from behind her computer.  “What’s up?”

“Could you get me anything you have on August Walker?”

“You should be able to access that already--”

“No, that’s just from his time in Operations.  He used to work in Support.”

“Really?”

“Um, yeah.  Can you… get me that file?”

“Yeah, sure.  ...Looks like he had another psychiatrist then, too.  I think they had a mandated intake interview back then.”

“Makes sense.”

“I’ve got some tapes here.”

You laughed a little when she actually handed you literal cassettes.  “Oh, you mean tapes.  I assumed it was digital.”

“Not this far back.”

You slipped the tape into your car’s tape player on your drive home.  Perks of having a shitty old car.

So, tell me, August, the calm male voice of the retired Dr. Newbury began, what inspires your interest in the CIA?  

I have a talent.  I want it to get some use.

What do you mean when you say ‘talent’?

I can do things other people can’t.  And I don’t mean physically, although I suppose that’s true, too.  What I mean is, I can tolerate things other people can’t.  I can survive things other people can’t.  There’s something about people that makes them… sensitive.  Reactive.  I don’t think I have that.  I don’t feel things the way other people do.

And you don’t see that as a weakness?

I think I did, once.  But I realize now that it’s my greatest strength.  I have a sense of… peace, that most people can only dream of.  

Peace?  Is that something that’s important to you?

Isn’t it important to everyone?

That’s fair.  Where do you think that sense of peace comes from?

Is it time to dig into my childhood, Doc?

You shivered at how similar it sounded to his own discussion with you, even when he was clearly so much younger.

I suppose.

Are you one of those people who thinks peace can only come from suffering?

Let’s not talk about me.

Well, I think that suffering is overrated.  My childhood, since you’re dying to know, was fine.  Simple.  Something in me is… missing, maybe, but it wasn’t stolen.  My mom was sweet-- the kind of person who would bake a pie and leave it in the windowsill to cool.  Always at social functions, always showing me off.  

And your father?

Quiet.  Stern, never cruel.  I mean, he would discipline me when I did something wrong-- but that’s not cruelty, that’s love, isn’t it?

You could say that.

Then sure, my father loved me.

Is that the only way your father loved you?  Through discipline?

Is there any other way?

You stopped the tape but what you had heard echoed in your mind.  There was something about this story that you hadn’t gotten out of what he had told you.  That undefinable, inscrutable element that could only be described as the truth.  Of course you had questioned his story at the time, but you had been told to believe people when they were confessing something so serious, even as some covert sense told you that something was wrong.

You pulled over and grabbed a paper file from the seat next to you.  

“Of course,” you mumbled aloud to yourself, “of course something was wrong…”

You flipped to his physical examination results from his first intake.  He was just 19 then, a few weeks before the interview you had just listened to.

Perfect hearing in both ears.  20/20 vision.  Flawless dental impressions-- due mainly to 7 years of corrective braces staggered throughout his childhood.

You felt sick-- actually, physically sick.  As much as you had anticipated that there was something off with his original story, you hadn’t prepared for such a significant fabrication.  You still didn’t understand why he had lied to you… or what more you would learn had been simply a story.

[nanoland]

new chapter (lucifer fic)

(earlier parts are here; whole thing is here) 

Ponder on the Narrow House, part 3 

Mazikeen + Eve + Michael, gen fic (for now), warning for gun violence 

0   

Along the California coastline, the cruise ship Illustrious Voyager bore four thousand three hundred and ten passengers, one thousand two hundred and ninety-six crewmembers, and two guide dogs.

Five thousand six hundred and eight souls, in total.

At around 4pm, without anyone noticing, that number became five thousand six hundred and nine.

Hands clasped behind her back, Eve strolled down the promenade, admiring the vessel’s size and beauty. This fresh new millennium’s wealth astonished her. Sickened, sometimes. Entranced, sometimes. But always astonished.

Back in the garden, they’d slept on and under rocks. When it rained, they got wet. When large animals came by, they hid. No weapons. No shelter. No blankets. The only resource they’d had in abundance was food. Good grief – so much food. God had been so proud of all the different fruits and nuts and mushrooms he’d made available to them, and Adam had been so grateful. Eve supposed she had been, too.

It hadn’t stopped her from one day approaching her husband and the plump rabbits resting in his lap – two of several dozen pets – and asking if he didn’t think the cold nights would be much more endurable if they each had a warm pair of fur slippers.

Then she’d met Lucifer. Fallen in love. Bitten the apple. Learned how powerful he and his Father truly were. That was when the real questions, the sticky, prickly questions, had come bubbling up.

If Lucifer has such a vast family, with so many siblings, why can’t I have even one? she’d asked the sky. Why is Adam all I get?

And later: If You can simply bring people into existence, why must I scream and bleed and shit myself in order to have children? Am I doing it wrong? Is there another way? If there isn’t, why not?

And later: Why is nothing fair?

And, most recently, after meeting Mazikeen: Why isn’t everything at least equally unfair? Why do humans get a world of options while Maze and her family are expected to serve angels from birth to death? Why isn’t Maze allowed into Heaven, even after an eternity of loyalty and hard work?

“Sorry,” she said, flashing white teeth at a passing crewmember. “I’m trying to find a friend of mine. Can you tell me how to get to Room 835?”

Half an hour later, there was a splash and the ship’s population dropped to five thousand six hundred and seven.

Before binding his arms and legs, Eve had secured Andrew Bismarck’s lifejacket and gagged him. Furious and helpless, he bobbed alongside her as the ship moved on and Mazikeen rowed up in her inflatable raft, wearing a sunset-orange swimsuit.

“Should I be worried about those, babe?” she asked as she gripped Bismarck’s lifejacket and hauled him out of the water.

Eve smiled at the dolphin pod swimming in playful loops around her, and patted the nearest one’s nose. “No. They’re my friends.”

The inflatable wasn’t big enough for three people, so Eve held on to a friend’s dorsal fin and let him drag her back to The Choronzon.

Michael stood on the deck, looking bored. As they climbed aboard, their prisoner slung over Mazikeen’s shoulder, he drawled, “Seriously? This sad specimen’s worth two million dollars?”

“Actually, his net worth is eight hundred million,” said Mazikeen, dumping him down. “Two million is just what his ex-wife is willing and able to pay.”

Wringing out her hair, Eve added, “She took half his money in the divorce but she gave almost all of it to a chimpanzee shelter. I really like her!”

His lip curled. “How delightfully sordid. Isn’t this all a little beneath you, Ms Mazikeen? I mean, you’re a big deal in Hell. High Commander of Lucifer’s legions, head advisor to the king himself. Aren’t you worried taking jobs like this diminishes you?”

Busy handcuffing Bismarck to the railing, Mazikeen said, “Eve, honey? Do me a favour?”

“Boop!” Eve chirped, having already snuck up behind Michael, and pushed him overboard.

“I know it’s your whole gimmick,” Mazikeen called down as he splashed and spluttered, his face red with princely indignation. “And I know you don’t have a lot else going for you. But the next time you try that on me, I will stop being nice. Kapish?”

“Kapish,” he muttered.

The Choronzon had barely travelled a mile before Eve spotted Bismarck’s henchmen coming after them.

“Someone gimme details!” shouted Mazikeen, busy putting a bulletproof vest on over her bikini and opening up the box she’d told Dan contained a fishing rod, not a halberd.

Eve peered through her binoculars. “Two speedboats. Twelve guys on jet skis. Guns everywhere.”

“Heh. Awesome. Mickey – move that tight ass to the front and make like a nice juicy target.”

“Wait, what about-…” Michael began, trailing off as Mazikeen dove gracefully into the sea.

Bouncing from foot to foot, Eve shot him a grin. “Don’t look so glum, sourpuss. This is the fun part.”

She’d never spoken to Michael in Heaven, despite the millennia they’d both resided only two miles apart, her in a lakeside cottage on the outskirts of the Silver City, him in the crystal palace in its centre.

Granted, she’d not exactly had a warm and fuzzy relationship with any of Lucifer’s siblings. They all knew what had happened in the garden. Some had been nice – Amenadiel had visited often, even though he’d never had much to say and they’d spent their time together skipping stones across the lake’s surface. But the others had kept her at a distance. She was a bad influence.

Michael, however, was the only angel she’d not ever said one word to.

She’d seen him, now and then, in the early days, when she was the only human in Heaven and, as such, grudgingly invited to divine family get-togethers. On those occasions, she’d spent too much time feeling awkward and out-of-place to pay attention to the sullen figure lurking in whatever shadows were available. The one time she’d glanced his way, it had been to marvel at the stories of people getting the twins mixed up; beyond the raw basics of bone structure, Michael couldn’t have looked less like her old lover.

Bullets sprayed across the hull. Humming, Eve stepped daintily into Michael’s shadow, seconds before they started bouncing off his shoulders and chest.

“It is beneath her,” he muttered.

She made an ambiguous noise. “How d’you figure?”

There came a shout and a splash from the nearest jet ski. The bullets stopped.

“C’mon. She’s Mazikeen. Everyone in the Silver City knows about Mazikeen. Ordinarily, we couldn’t give two dry shits about Lucifer’s minions, but her? She’s a minor celebrity. The power behind Hell’s throne. Christ, it’s no secret my beloved twin couldn’t govern his way out of a paper bag.”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling fondly. “He’s kind of bad at everything. Except music. He’s a great musician.”

More shouting. More shooting. More bullets bouncing off Michael’s torso. Mazikeen rode by, one hand gripping her newly-acquired jet ski’s throttle lever, the other clutching her bloodstained halberd. Watching her circle the enemy, Eve was reminded of a sheep dog.

Michael went on: “And then there’s the fact that for a while, everyone thought Lucifer was going to marry her. It was all anyone could talk about. Jophiel was taking bets on when the proposal would happen. She’d have been High Commander and the Queen of Hell. Instead? All of a sudden, Lucifer takes an indefinite vacay to the mortal realm, drags her with him, and next thing anyone knows, she’s working behind a bar.”

The remaining jet skis and their terrified, wounded riders had been neatly rounded up, which meant it was time for Eve to open her purse.

“Um – how long have those been in there?” asked Michael, watching her take out three grenades.

“You want one?” she offered. “Don’t forget to take the pin out before you throw it. I did that my first time.”  

One thing to be said for millions of dull, dull years spent sitting next to God’s Greatest Warrior, skipping stones across a lake; your aim got good.

The first blast was a warning, not close enough to actually kill any of Bismarck’s men, though the resultant waves did knock several into the water. They tried to retreat, turning their vehicles around, only to remember Mazikeen, corralling them single-handed and now armed with machine guns she’d confiscated from those already bested.

When they saw the second and third grenade incoming, they gave up and abandoned the jet skis, jumping into the sea and swimming for their lives.

“Fuck!” Michael yelped, blocking his ears at the concomitant explosions.

Gazing past the debris and smoke, Eve saw Mazikeen head for the nearest of the two speedboats. Its occupants, preoccupied with aiming a rocket launcher at The Choronzon, saw her coming far too late.

“I get your point,” said Eve, as her girlfriend and her halberd made short work of the crew. “But that’s a really… how can I put this? It’s a really angelic way of looking at things. Maze doesn’t consider anything ‘beneath her’.”

“Wow. Sick burn. You’re basically admitting she has no pride.”

“Oh, she’s got pride. Tons of pride. Her pride’s just dependant on how well she does a job, not on the type of job she has. She wasn’t happy working at Lux, but that wasn’t because she thought bartending was ‘beneath her’; it was because she prefers doing things she’s good at. Customer service isn’t really one of her strengths.”

The second speedboat was abandoned by its crew mere seconds before Mazikeen rammed the first speedboat into it, cackling victoriously.

“Actually,” Eve said, moving from Michael’s shadow to where Mazikeen had earlier set a crate of peach soda – her favourite – out on the deck, “now that you mention it, I guess I’m the one with no pride. Haven’t really ever had anything to be proud of. Your Dad never gave me the chance. I was never meant to do things. I was just meant to be.”

Michael snorted. “Lucky you. Trust me; he may have softened in his later years, but back in the day he never, ever stopped riding our asses. You think Lucy really rebelled because he had better plans for how the universe should be run? Because he was an innovator? Nope. Lazy dick just hated being told to do his chores.”

By the time Mazikeen swam back to them, saltwater had washed off the blood and her ponytail had come loose.

“Oh, hey,” said Eve, gripping her hand and pulling her up. “A mermaid.”

After pressing a rough kiss to her cheek and taking a swig of peach soda, Mazikeen asked, “You okay? He did his job?”

Eve patted the angel’s shoulder – the one that wouldn’t hurt. “He was terrific! Awesome addition to the team.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Michael mumbled.

Ignoring him, Mazikeen snatched up a towel to dry her hair. “Glad to hear it. Alright! Let’s get Bismarck back to shore, get paid, and find a place to have dinner so we can toast Team Hellrazor’s first successful mission.”

“R-A-Z-O-R,” Eve informed Michael. “To make it cooler.”

[space-------kid]

Ack! It’s perfectly okay! But in short, Akaza, not hakuji, is human, still apart of the 12 moons, meets a flower shop owner, who after becoming friends with, ends up showing him a flower that they found, the blue spider lily, the flower of which he needs, and he contemplates over turning it in and potentially risking the owner’s safety (cause like, hey, where’d ya get the flower) and keeping here and potentially getting in trouble for not finding it. Maybe smol angst with a fluff ending?

Thank you for your patience, understanding, and clarification - I appreciate them very much! 😭💕💕💕

I hope you like what I come up with, anon! 😊💕

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

𝓰𝓸𝓸𝓭𝓫𝔂𝓮, 𝓶𝓻. 𝓯𝓵𝓸𝔀𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓮𝓯 𝒽𝓊𝓂𝒶𝓃!𝒜𝓀𝒶𝓏𝒶 𝓍 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

              The strum of Nakime’s biwa is the last thing he hears before he is transported away from the Dimensional Infinity Fortress. Akaza gets up from his kneeling position, sleep-deprived and mentally exhausted from his meeting with the demon he calls his master. Behind him, the sun is starting to rise from the horizon, signifying a new day he has to face with only one thing in mind.

                Despite his abhorrence for humans, Kibutsuji Muzan finds it in himself to tolerate the presence of the only man occupying a spot among his Twelve Demon Moons, more so giving said man the title of Upper Moon Three  – the rank branded on his back. Human though he may be, Akaza knows that Muzan favours him along with the top two Upper Moons because of his many uses. For one, no one will suspect that a human like him is willingly working for a demon. And two, he proves to be more useful in the progenitor of the demon’s search for the mysterious blue spider lily - having the capacity to look for the flowers in broad daylight rather than being limited by night. Perhaps these are simply the reason why Akaza hasn’t been turned into a demon yet, and he’d rather not if he’s being completely honest.

                The danger of being eaten or mercilessly killed by his fellow Moons remain, however, and it pervades within the ranks of the Lower Moons. While the Upper Moons may have been lenient because they also recognize the uses of a human belonging in the ranks and being of service to Muzan, the Lower ones hate Akaza with a burning passion. How could one measly human gain Muzan’s favour, something they can’t even obtain (maybe with the exception of Lower Five, Rui, who sees Muzan as a father-figure and Akaza some sort of an older brother)?

                But Akaza is used to the threats by now. He’s learned to live with every single one of them -- that, after all, is what it means to be a human who chooses to be subservient to the creator of demonkind.

                Prepared for another long day ahead of him, Akaza squares his shoulders and sets off on his journey.

--

                Akaza’s trail leads him to a post town called Magome located in the Kiso Valley.

                While the town doesn’t look promising enough with regards to his journey, the third Upper Moon still sees the charm of the place itself. He initially plans to stay only for a day and move along with his search, but he hears talk of Demon Slayers converging on the next town he is headed so he decides to lay low for a few days. While he is confident that he can take them on with the use of his Destructive Kill Style - a self-taught Breath Style he has formulated to oppose the Demon Slayers’ - he finds it prudent that secrecy will better help him with his quest for the time being.

                Akaza, however, doesn’t count on finding all three inns in the town fully booked. His displeasure must have shown on his face because most of the townspeople have been veering off his general direction. He would have ignored them, but a soft tap on his shoulder sends him turning around to look at whoever it is with a glare.

                Looking back, Akaza doesn’t expect that his short stay in Magome will earn him a friend in the form of [Name], an unassuming yet kind owner of the sole flower shop in the town. She has heard of his plight and - as her usual routine - offers to let him stay in her home above the shop. Akaza wants to turn down her request for he barely knows her save for some of the townsfolk encouraging him to do so. After all, they say, [Name] is known to take in those who have been unfortunate enough to be unable to find a place to stay in during their time in the town.

               He continues to harbour doubt. What if he’s a thief who wants to take advantage of her offer? What if he’s a murderer? His questions and doubt are short-lived, for [Name] is completely safe under the protection of three older brothers who live close. While not being a part of the Imperial Army nor his enemy the Demon Slayers, [Name]’s siblings are capable fighters who dabble in kyūdō, jiu-jitsu, and kenjutsu each. Despite being capable of defeating all three of them easily should a combat ensue, Akaza is more than satisfied with the knowledge that the unexpected and only friend he’s ever made is safe from the scum of humanity.

                And despite his better judgement, Akaza has actually enjoyed his short stay with [Name]. Aside from her kindness, he sees that she’s also understanding and considerate with other people’s plight. She seems to also possess the patience of a saint, and only gets angry for the right reasons. She knows not to pry with other people’s business if they choose to be secretive, but she’s also perceptive enough to know if someone is bearing any malicious intent or ill will towards her. But what Akaza finds endearing about her the most is that she is a genuine person - every action and decision she makes doesn’t contain even an ounce of a hidden agenda of some sort.

                After his stay, Akaza surprises himself with visiting [Name] at Magome whenever he can. He thinks at first that she will make a great asset with his search for the blue spider lily, what with her owning a flower shop and all. Slowly, however, he finds that the reason for his visit becomes less and less about the rare and mysterious his master has long coveted.

               The Upper Moon incognito gratefully accepts the tea [Name] serves him, fighting the urge to blush under her kind gaze. A bright smile is painted on her face as she begins chattering about the goings on in the town during his absence. Akaza shares the mundane events he encounters as well, mindful not to expose who he is, what his reasons for traveling are, and who he is allied with.

               “…then my brothers chased him away and threatened to throw him to prison if he ever sets foot in town because I found out that he’s a liar and has already promised the tailor Hanako-san marriage!” [Name] recounts of a time, during Akaza’s absence, where a shameless man attempted to court her despite being already engaged to one of her friends. “You would’ve disliked him instantly if you’ve been here and saw what he did, Akaza-san. That man has no respect for women!”

               Akaza quietly agrees, and it doesn’t escape his notice why the offender would offer [Name] courtship. She’s single and at the perfect age to get married. Aside from her behaviour, she is also an undeniably beautiful woman, with lively [colour] eyes, [length and colour] hair that flows like silk, and [tone] unblemished skin. She is very attractive, both in appearance and personality, and Akaza would be a hypocrite if he denies ever wondering what she’d look like in a shiromuku.

               Heat spreads on Akaza’s cheeks at the thought. Maybe… maybe when he’s done with his quest and Lord Muzan has finally achieved his goal, maybe Akaza can…

               He shakes his head at the thought. As much as he wants to court [Name] and later ask for her hand in marriage, he has a feeling that his master may not approve.

               But maybe Lord Muzan can make an exception? Maybe if Akaza can finally present the demon lord his long coveted blue spider lilies, maybe he’ll grant the third Upper Moon any desire he’d request?

               Akaza falters, almost dropping the cup and hearing [Name]’s worried gasp. He’s her friend, why is he thinking and desiring of marriage, of all things? And since when has he started to fantasize about making [Name] his woman? Does a male friend think of his female friend the way he does these past few months of knowing her?

               “I’m sorry,” he tells her with a reassuring smile. The lie – he’s the only one who manages to deceive her, why? – comes out smoothly from his lips as he greedily drinks in her reciprocating smile, “I’m just tired from the long journey. I apologize for making you worry.”

               Red paints [Name]’s cheeks as she holds the tray close to her chest. Akaza likes to think that it is because she is affected by his smile, just as hers affects him in more ways than one.

               “O-Oh!” She blinks in surprise and ducks her head in embarrassment at his claim. “I’m sorry for dragging you off to chat as soon as you came, Akaza-san! Please stay here and let me tidy up your room!”

               She is up to her feet before he can stop her, and he tilts his head in curiosity when she rushes back to him with an excited smile on her pretty face.

               “Before I forget–! You should come to the forest with me, tomorrow, Akaza-san!” [Name] tells him, looking positively thrilled that it bleeds into Akaza’s chest. “I found something that I want to show only you!”

               Something that has excited her– something that she wants to show only to him?

               Akaza smiles softly at her retreating form, anticipation building in his entire being. He can’t wait for tomorrow to come.

--

               The trek to the forest has showered Akaza with opportunity to spend more time alone with [Name]. While her older brothers have been kind and open to him, they still exude that protective air around her whenever Akaza’s gaze stays at her longer than they’re comfortable with.

               Kiso Valley is beautiful during the summer season. He admires the way [Name]’s face lights up as she points at the flowers they pass by on the trail, explaining to Akaza that the area is where she mostly gets and cultivates the flowers she sells in her shop. He’s seen and heard her talk about her beloved shop and flowers for what seems to be a hundred times already but Akaza doesn’t tire about the topic – not one bit, not when [Name] glows with passion for the things she loves.

               The trail soon becomes steep, and Akaza is quick grab [Name] by the waist when she almost stumbles in the uneven ground. He can feel her softness through the fabric of her kimono, marvelling at how perfect she fits against his battle-hardened frame. They stare at each other in surprise, the close proximity between the two of them painting their faces a bright shade of red. Akaza reluctantly lets her go, immediately missing her soft and sweet frame against his, and he wonders if it has just been his imagination working in overdrive when he notices that [Name] sort of looks like she is feeling the same. He offers her his hand instead, and his heart leaps with joy when she shyly accepts his offer.

               [Name] looks around fifteen minutes later, seemingly checking for anyone in the trail with them.

               “Do you see anyone else here, Akaza-san?” she then asks him, her free hand clutching the sleeve of his dark blue gi like a child looking for an adult’s guidance. Akaza bites his lip to keep himself from smiling at the adorable sight, and focuses in their surroundings.

               Utilizing his heightened perceptions, Akaza shakes his head at [Name] when the only battle spirit he senses in the area is hers. “We’re the only ones here, [Name]-san,” he tells her, squeezing her hand reassuringly.

               [Name] smiles eagerly up at him and, to his surprise, leads him off the trail. They walk in silence deeper into the forest, to Akaza’s mounting confusion. [Name] seems to be growing more excited while they walk, and a gasp of delight slips past her lips when they reached a small clearing.

               “They’re here again!” she exclaims giddily and excitedly tugs Akaza along with her. Akaza looks around, unable to find the source of her excitement until his blues eyes shifts their focus on the small patch of flowers in the middle of the clearing.

               “Look, Akaza-san! Aren’t they pretty?”

               Heart beating wildly in his throat, Akaza gazes wide-eyed at the blue spider lilies before him. He cannot believe what he is seeing, cannot believe that the one thing his master has been looking for for centuries now lay in front of him.

               Akaza’s done it, he has succeeded more than the rest of his fellow Upper Moons! His long search for the mysterious blue spider lily has finally come to an end!

               [Name]’s delighted laughter reaches Akaza’s ears, snapping him out of his stupor. He watches as she plucks one of the blue spider lilies and shyly offers it to him.

               “I knew the sight of them would render you speechless,” she tells him softly, [colour] eyes glowing with pride and happiness, “just like they did to me when I first saw them two years ago.”

               Akaza lets [Name] guide him down until they are both seated on the grassy earth. He takes the proffered flower and studies it with open curiosity, prompting her to tell him what she knows of the strange flowers.

               “I found them by accident, you know,” [Name] says. “My first thought upon seeing them was how much money I could be earning should I sell them, but I realized that they’re better off staying here and flourishing by themselves. They’re strange, see, and I found out why the hard way. From what I’ve observed, they only bloom for three days every year! They only bloom during daylight and wilt when the sun sets. How very strange!”

               Ah. So that was why Lord Muzan’s search has been ruthless for the past centuries. The only thing he needs to fully unlock the immortality he so craves is perfectly guarded by the Sun he cannot conquer. And with such a short lifespan, it’s no wonder his fellow Upper Moons’ contacts cannot find even the shadow of the blue spider lilies.

               The success belongs to Akaza now, doesn’t it? He’s finally found the blue spider lilies. Plans to contact Lord Muzan and tell the latter of his find runs rampant in Upper Moon Three’s mind, but [Name]’s smiling face instantly derails his thought process.

               He knows Lord Muzan is a man who believed that his word is absolute. If Akaza tells him that he’s found the flowers through [Name], he is sure that the progenitor of demons would hold her accountable for his centuries’ worth of fruitless searching. Lord Muzan will accuse her of keeping the blue spider lilies’ existence and location a secret, thus endangering her and her brothers’ life should Akaza report his find.

               Akaza reminds himself that his loyalty is with Muzan alone. But what stands in his way of proving that loyalty comes in the form of the only friend he’s ever made his whole life – a friend whom he is quickly falling in love with. Would he be willing to trade the happiness [Name]’s presence offers him for the undying loyalty and servitude he’s first offered Muzan? Would he willingly go far as to endangering her life for the fulfillment of his mission?

               “I’ve been keeping their existence a secret from the townsfolk and the outsiders,” he hears [Name] speak to fill in the silence between them. Akaza looks at her, and he is reduced to admiring the way her cheeks flushed under his gaze, how her eyes brightened the longer she stares at him.

               Akaza’s heart is flooded with a surge of warmth and deep affection at the words she say next.

               “I want them to be just mine and Akaza-san’s secret, because… because Akaza-san is special to me!”

               The way [Name] speaks with such conviction has Akaza come to a decision himself.

               He would rather get himself into trouble for keeping his discovery a secret than to have the only light in his life be snuffed out because of him. He would lie to his fellow Demon Moons, would lie to Muzan himself, if it would keep [Name] safe. Akaza has never been this sure his entire life – in exchange for making him experience what it feels and means to be happy again, he would willingly die in his master’s hands in exchange of [Name]’s safety.

--

               At the end of the day and their trip to the forest, Akaza promises [Name] that the blue spider lilies’ existence will be their secret.

               The third Upper Moon – should he still call himself that? – gazes up at the moon through his room’s window. He can hear [Name] moving in her room next to his and soon enough, her soft footsteps approach. Akaza turns just in time to see her silhouette through the shoji door.

               “Akaza-san? I’m sorry for the intrusion, but are you still awake?”

               He gets up from his seat and moves to open the door. [Name] blushes under his gaze. She is carrying a tea set on a tray with her, and she seems to be fidgeting where she stands.

               “W-Would you like a cup of tea before you sleep?”

               She is acting like a caring wife, and Akaza is now convinced that he won’t trade her for anything in the world.

               He lifts a hand and softly pats her twice on the head, smiling affectionately at the meek smile she gives him.

               “Only if you join me,” he softly tells her. He quickly backpedals, however, when he realizes that he hasn’t been clear with his words when [Name] gapes up at him with wide eyes and a deep blush on her face. “W-With the tea– d-drinking t-tea, I mean! Please, h-have a cup of t-tea with me, b-b-before I sleep!”

               Face still flushed a lovely shade of red, [Name]’s tinkling laughter echoes in her humble home as she enters Akaza’s room.

.

.

.

.

[kyber-kisses]

I, Alone

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: cursing, canon level gore, character death. . . angst.

Summary: when a simple hunt goes terribly wrong, y/n is the only person who can attempt to fix it. . .but at what cost?

A/n: had this idea rolling around for the past few days, if it gets enough likes I’ll write a six part story for it! Hope y’all enjoy and feedback is appreciated! I was also listening to Ashes by Claire Guerreso so if you really wanna vibe with this fic. . .

Pacing back and forth across the old frayed carpet of the run down motel you gnawed almost mindlessly are your nails, eyes darting across the darkened room to the two motel beds. The silhouettes of two bodies making your stomach churn. Your tears had long since dried on your cheeks, your energy drained to almost nothing.

It was never supposed to go like this.

It was supposed to be a simple hunt. Three hunters against a couple spirits. No big deal. Ghosts where practically a milk run case at this point in your career. . . So why did it end the way that it had?

You had to think of something. Anything to fix what had happened.

You paused your pacing at the foot of the nearest bed, eyes falling over the now cold corpse of one Dean Winchester. Through the darkness you could still easily make out the massive tears in his shirt, now darkened with drying blood. A few feet away his brother lay in a similar position, chest still and unmoving.

You wanted to cry, scream, anything to release all the emotions bubbling up inside you, but you remained stoic, too tired to even attempt a lone shriek.

They were gone. The closest thing you ever had gotten to a family now lay lifeless and cold on faded cotton sheets. Hazel and green eyes now permanently shut to this earthly plane-

No. No- quickly shaking the thoughts from your head you ran a bloody hand through your hair, sinking to the balls of your feet between the two mattresses.

“Please forgive me.” You whispered, popping back up on your heels and reaching for the impalas keys.

You had one card left to play, and damn if you weren’t going to use it.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

Emotions were an annoying thing.

They always found a way of weaseling through the cracks in the walls you put up to keep yourself steady. They gnaw at your insides and make you lose control of what little you did have reined in. But right now you were trying harder than ever to force them back down your gullet.

This was for the best. . . Even if it meant giving up your days to make sure they had some left. 

The countryside lay dark and quiet as you walked across the ground, boots crunching against gravel while you shifted the small box in your arms. The air was thick with the scent of yarrow flowers, almost to the point in which you believed you could wrap yourself in it. Jaw clenched like a shock absorber for your emotions you knelt down to place the old shoe box in the ground.

It almost seemed too simple- at least for something of this scale. The contents of the box rattled as you set it down. Grave dirt, the bones of a black cat and a picture of yourself. The three small ingredients that would cook up your fate.

Quickly burying the box, you said the words before waiting patiently. A soft summer breeze blew across the crossroads making a shiver crawl up your spine. You weren’t scared though. You were just eager to put things back together.

If Dean were here he would be telling you that you were blinded by grief, that you weren’t thinking straight. . . But then again if he were here you wouldn’t be doing this in the first place.

Dean was gone. He was laying lifeless in a cheap and darkened motel room next to his baby brother. . . But he wouldn’t be that way for long- not if you could help it.

Growing impatient, you threw back your head “You really gonna make me wait here all night?!”

“Careful Sugar, you’ll wake the neighbors.”

At the sound of the new voice you dropped your shoulders, spinning around on your heel to meet the black eyed gaze of the crossroad demon before you. Long black hair cascaded down her shoulders, red lips twisted up in an amused smirk.

“You normally keep people waiting like that?” Shoving your hands into the pockets of your coat, you took steady strides across the empty road towards her, showing her that you weren’t afraid.

“Only ones with an attitude like yours.” Tilting her head she stepped forward, heels grinding against the loose gravel as she circled you. “Now tell me, what is Nancy Drew doing all the way out here? I doubt the Hardy boys would be pleased to hear you’re out in the dark with a demon. . .” She paused, eyes scanning over your face. “That is unless they’re d-“

“I need you to bring them back.” Your words coming out sharp as you glared back at her, jaw still clenched.

“Oh and why would I do that? If the Winchesters are really dead- then it’s best for my species if they stay that way. Doesn’t make much sense to bring our biggest threat back onto the playing field.”

Taking a deep breath you continued to try and keep you emotions under lock, but unable to hide the waver in your voice. “Please. They’re all that I have.”

You watched her expression shift momentarily, pausing her steps to think. After what felt like an excruciatingly long minute, the corners of her lips turned up in a smirk.

“Alright, fine. I’ll bring back your precious Winchesters. . . But you will not be around to see it.”

You wish you could say you were shaken by her words, but wasn’t that the whole reason why you came out here in the first place? To pawn away your life in exchange for the people you loved most in this world?

“Fine by me. My soul is yours for the taking.”

“Oh I don’t want your soul.” She cooed, moving to drag a single perfectly manicured nail along your jaw. “Seeing as I am bring back the Winchesters of all people, I thought I would make it a little interesting.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, that instead of marking your soul for hell, I’m going to strip all memories of you from their minds.” She explained, watching in amusement as your face fell. “They wont remember you and you will have to live the rest of your days knowing that.”

“Why?”

“Oh I think you should be able to piece that together for yourself. Yes I could always physically torture you in the pit- but mental torture is so much more fun.” She grinned. “That is the price if you want me to bring your beloved Dean Winchester back from the great beyond.”

Her last words successfully made you freeze, your entire body going rigid as your wall keeping your emotions back began to crack.

“Oh yes, I know about that too. It’s so easy to see in the way you look at him.” She cooed, clearly finding your pain amusing. “Miss Y/N Y/L/N. . . In love with the righteous man. Too bad he’ll never know.”

Push them back down Y/N, push your emotions back down. She’s trying to break you. Don’t let her.

“Deal.”

And with one quick step she had her lips against yours and your fate was set in stone.

“Oh, and best be gone before they wake up. You wouldn't want your deal to go bad so soon.”

*. *. *. *. *.

The air felt heavier from the moment you slid back out from behind the wheel of the impala. Maybe it was the fact that you knew it would be the last time you sat on the worn leather seats- or maybe it was just the utter weight of emotions still rising inside you.

Rolling the keys in your hand you slowly eased open the door to the motel room, stepping back into the poorly air conditioned space. You didn’t bother turning on the lights, the neon sign just beyond the moth eaten curtains illuminating the area just enough. All you had to do was grab your belongings and high tail it out of there before they woke up.

Quickly crossing the room, you placed the keys of the impala back on the nightstand where Dean had last left them before crossing over to the small table and haphazardly tossing all of your things into your duffel and shouldering it.

It was best if you moved quickly and didn’t dwell on your emotions. If you stopped you were sure to break. No second glances or momentary pauses. Eyes on the road ahead. Don’t look back.

Unfortunately you made it all of five steps to the door before that entire plan flew out the window. Your steps faltered and before you could stop yourself you were looking back over your shoulder at the occupied beds.

Even from your spot you could see that your deal was already taking affect. Their shirts were no longer in tatters and the blood was gone, almost as if it had never been there to begin with. In the dim light you could see the slow and steady rise of Deans chest telling you that he was alive. That’s he was okay. And that your work was now done.

Slowly sinking to sit on the side of the bed, you folded your hands, finding it difficult all of a sudden to look up. You had to say something- even if he couldn't hear you.

“Goodbyes are never easy, are they? And it isn’t easy to leave when it’s the only option available.” You words coming out in almost a whisper as you spoke. “I have so many things I want to say to you- but they fall short knowing that you won’t hear them.”

Another crack in your wall formed when you looked over at the relaxed facial expression on Dean, his eyelashes fluttering in his sleep. It was rare to see him this peaceful- this calm. But you drew comfort knowing you had helped make him that way.

The crack was enough to fill your eyes with tears. “And here I am having to say goodbye to the only person that I felt cared, the only person that I felt happy around.” You paused, finding the words stuck in your throat. “How am I supposed to just do that without feeling like I’ve lost a part of me?” Your voice finally cracking as you felt the first wave of hot tears run down your face. “All those times we would just laugh and talk and do normal things that normal people did- I had never been more happy.”

As much as you know it’s best for you, and him- and everyone you can’t ignore the inexplicable pain your carrying in your chest. Even though you want to hug him and stay by his side longer, you can’t. Waking up to a stranger would be a confusing feeling for him and a painful one for you.

“I never expected our lives to separate one day.  We’ve known each other since we were kids.” You continued, delicately lacing your hand through his now warm one. “But I’ll never forget the moments you laughed with me, cried with me, helped me. . . And vice versa. But you’ll still have Sam and Cas. . . And in the end you’ll be okay.”

Pushing yourself up from the bed, you let go of his hand, using the back of it to wipe away the tears. Before you could walk towards the door though you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, paying no attention the the stray tear splashing down onto his face.

“Just know that whatever comes next, I love you.” Your whisper barely audible to your own ears. The words were pointless though. He wouldn’t hear them or remember them.

And before you could realize it you had your duffel back on your shoulder and you were slipping out the door. Leaving everything you called home behind.

Crossing through the almost empty parking lot you set your sights on the future. The next course of action was to hot wire a car and get back to the bunker. You still had belongings there that you needed to pack up before the brothers returned home.

Walking across the street you could feel the rough cracks in the asphalt through the soles of your boots, each steps feeling as though you had lead strapped to your feet. It was only when you reached the alleyway close ahead that you stopped once more, the magnetic pull of your family tightening around your core as you looked back, just in time to see shadows pass by the now lit up room you had just exited.

And the remaining pieces of the wall you had tried so desperately to fortify crumbled, taking you with it. A choked sob left your throat and your hand flew out to steady yourself of the brick wall- but the support didn’t last long before you knees buckled and you slid down the wall, sobbing into your hands just beyond reach of the nearest street lamp. Tears of both relief and anguish soaked your cheeks and you didn’t try to stop them.

They were alive. But you weren’t so sure about yourself.

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[eerythingisshaka]

Ficmas Day #3 “Misfit Wakandans”

[T’Challa x OC]

Word Count: 1.2k

“You won’t win!  You’re just a toy maker, no match for Santa!  Now leave before you’re reindeer food!”

Akini looks over the script in her email as T’Challa claps.  “I don’t think the reindeer food line was part of it, Ezzy.”

Ezzy shrugs, hopping into her father’s lap as she twists her braid.  “They said we can make up some stuff sometimes if we want.”

Akini holds her daughter’s cheek.  “That’s good.  Maybe try something different because reindeer do not eat people, right T’Challa?”

T’Challa appears to mull it over.  “Given the barren environment of the North Pole, it could very well be in the interest of the animal to survive-”

“Well thank goodness this isn’t a nature documentary.  I would just stick to the script for that  part, baby girl.  Just so no one is confused.  Now go wrap your hair and brush your teeth.  Your father will put you to bed in a minute.”

Ezzy deals out kisses to her parents before scurrying to her room.  Akini turns to T’Challa suspiciously.

“Now, what is the meeting so important about that you must go right before our daughter’s first play?”

T’Challa’s hands splay over his knees as he breathes in deep, avoiding Akini’s eyes.  “There are a couple of businesses willing to donate to our center for the holiday.  It won’t be long until that time comes.”

Akini nods, reaching for her husband’s chin to pull his gaze to meet hers.  “You cannot, by any means necessary, be late.”

T’Challa nods, but Akin tugs his chin hair this time.  “I mean it.  The crowds are horrendous at this American school, I won’t be a part of a mob for Kumkani, ok?”

T’Challa wraps an arm around his beloved, resting his other hand on her thigh as he stares lovingly into her eyes.  “I won’t be late.  I promise.  It will all be worth it in the end.”

--

“Stop.  Just here is fine.”  T’Challa opens his door and glides out swiftly in front of the elementary school entrance area.  His heart beat picks up as he sees his wife standing outside the front door, arms folded in a tight cross under her chest.  Akini’s  billowing afro hides her expression from him as she looks in the opposite direction while Ayo stands idle by.  Before T’Challa can signal her to remain silent, Ayo’s lips move, alerting Akini to his presence.

Okoye lets out a low whistle next to him.  “That almost scares me, kumkani.”

Akini’s eyes lock onto him as she stomps her booties towards him.  

“Why weren’t you kimoyo beads active?”

“My love, please slow down,”  T’Challa says calmly, approaching to meet her halfway.

“Calm - T’Challa, I have told you to not be late for our daughter’s performance for weeks, the last time being this morning, yes?”

T’Challa puts a finger to his lips, holding Akini’s arm to escort her to the school.

“I know, I know.  But something came up, this has happened before.”

Akini stops walking to turn and face him down despite her short frame.  “Heh!  I know it has!  Ezzy has been practicing her American Christmas recital for so long.”

T’Challa nods, hanging his head slightly.  “She has shown me at home.  She is quite good.”

Akini claps for emphasis.  “And when it actually counts, where is her father?  And you know she hates a scene.  If you got here when I asked, I wouldn’t worry about people gawking at you instead of paying attention to the children.  Now there will be a fuss over your presence.”

T’Challa holds out his hand for Akini to place hers into.  “It will be fine.  Has it started?”

Ayo speaks up.  “Five minutes ago, but Ezzy will not be on for another 15 minutes.”

T’Challa nods approvingly.  “Then you and Okoye secure an area in the balcony, front seat.  Maintain a distance on the east and west until it is time to dismiss.”

Okoye and Ayo open the doors to the school for Akini and T’Challa to enter.  A starstruck volunteer hands T’Challa  a program before they make their way up the stairs to the balcony.  T’Challa doesn’t let go of Akini as they walk hand in hand to their designated seat.  A musical number begins to taper off as Ezzy makes her way to the stage.

Akini points.  “Look!  Look at her!  Oh, she is the cutest looking ragdoll isn’t she?”

T’Challa smiles warmly, seeing his daughter under the bright spotlight with crimson circles on her cheeks and her natural hair in braids and bows.  Despite taking the appearance of a ragdoll, her costume was more of an abstract art piece than rags.

“Santa needs our help to get the toys to the children!  Who is with me?”  Ezzy commands, stamping a buckled shoe on the wooden crate she stood on over the cheering crowd.  

“Aye, you hear her?  She speaks clear and strong, just like I told her.  She studies me well, eh?”  T’Challa beams with pride as she leads a march toward an evil toy maker’s cave who tries to end Christmas but fails thanks to Ezzy and her crew.

When Ezzy had practiced the play before, T’Challa was not sure if the story would measure up enough to carry a performance worth watching, but Ezzy livened the cast in a way that was infectious to the crowd as well.  When the curtains closed for the end, the crowd erupted in loud praises and whistles as the cast took a final bow.

“We should go now,”  Akini says, standing up in her seat and motioning for Okoye and Ayo to follow.  Soon as T’Challa and Akini start their journey to the lower auditorium, the crowd begins to notice the King of the richest country on earth.

“Whoa, look!”

“T’Challa!  I seen you on the news!”

“Hey King!  I’ve got an investment opportunity you may be interested in!”

T’Challa has good blinders for these kinds of hassles, but Akini struggles, shushing people and turning them down for conversations and pictures and autographs directly when anyone is brave enough to talk past Okoye or Ayo flanking the couple.

T’Challa grips her hand tightly, mouthing that everything is fine but they couldn’t get to their daughter fast enough to make their exit.

“Baba!”  a big voice from a tiny frame calls out.  T’Challa follows the sound of his offspring’s voice, expertly finding her in the hoard of children and parents buzzing with excitement.

“There she is!  Come here!”  T’Challa takes his arms wide, letting Ezzy jump into them.  Akini pats her back for attention.

“I was here first, you know!”  Akini pokes out her lip as Ezzy looks down from her father’s arms and reaches for her mother.  Akini takes her into a tight hug.  “You did exceptional, my girl!  Let’s get out of here so we can talk all about it.”

Ay and Okoye helped them safely outside and began to make a path for the car until T’Challa felt something shift.  He turns back and sees his wife appear bewildered and stumble.

“Aye!  Come!”  He pushes through bystanders, holding Akini close as Ezzy climbs into his arms.

“Someone pushed Mama,”  Ezzy says.

“I’m fine, let’s go,”  Akini says flustered.

“Hey, King!  I said wait up!”  A middle aged white man tries to close the gap before Okoye’s staff separates him from his target.

“Do not touch the king or his family,”  Okoye warns.

He holds his hands up.  “Hey, I didn’t know they were together.”

“That does not excuse your actions,”  T’Challa says curtly.

He stammers as the crowd around him notices the drama.  “Sure, I just got too excited I guess-”

“That is no one’s problem but your own.  You have nothing more to say to me.”  T’Challa turns to leave, holding tight to both of his girls as they get into the car for a safe ride home.

“I’m so sorry Akini.  You were right.”  T’Challa confesses, looking down at his daughter resting her head on his chest.

Akini holds his hand to her face affectionately.  “I was too harsh with you.  But I will accept the win nonetheless.  WE are going home, that’s what matters.”

Ezzy looks up at her father.  “Baba, remember in the play when the toymaker tries to make the toys think they are better with him than with Santa?”

T’Challa thinks for a moment.  “I do.  Why?”

“You kinda sounded like me talking to that pale face guy.  I think you could be an actor.”

T’Challa grins.  “No, I could not because that wasn’t an act.  I love you and your mother very much and no hurt will come to either of you long as I am around.”

Akini lays her head on his other shoulder.  “While also teaching our daughter to protect herself...she is lucky to have you as her father.”

T’Challa kisses his love’s hand, inhaling the sweet smelling oils in her hair as his calm nature begins to cement.

Ezzy puts a hand to her father’s ear.  “Did you get Mama’s present today?”

T’Challa puts a finger to his lips, nodding.  “Mama thought I was late, but I still got to see you.  She is lucky her birthday and Christmas are on the same day; she may forgive me.”

Ezzy eyes widen with wonder.  “Two presents?!  Is it the moon and sun like you always say you want to give?”

T’Challa shrugs.  “You and her will see,”  he whispers.  “You’re a big girl for helping Baba with this task.”

Ezzy snuggles under him.  “I know.”

[keichanz]

Lullaby

inspired by this adorable fanart drawn by @magnoliajades​. the song is My Precious One by Celine Dion, but i altered the last set of lyrics to fit the setting. 

i gave Inuyasha glasses because i felt like it and for some reason i really like that image. also he doesn’t so much as sing the song as say the lyrics with a lilt that suggests a melody because even with how often i take liberties with his personality in AU’s i still can’t imagine him actually singing heh.

*conveniently and purposely forgets i wrote an entire fucking 27 chapter fic centered on Inuyasha being a singer* 

Pushing away from the desk with a heavy sigh, Inuyasha reached up to remove his glasses and tiredly rubbed his eyes. It was just past 8 PM, he still had five pages of code to enter, and that wasn’t even including the software he had to confiture as well as debug the new website. Fuck, but if he’d known becoming a goddamn IT tech meant bringing loads of work home with you almost every night, he definitely would have rethought a profession working with computers.

Inuyasha snorted quietly and then scowled at his computer screen. As far as he was concerned, the only benefit of his career was the salary. And the free Starbucks in the company cafeteria, but that was beside the point.

Taking a moment to stretch his back and legs since he’d been sitting in the computer chair for nigh on four hours now, Inuyasha replaced his glasses – an unfortunate side effect from his college days of staring at his computer in the dark – and eyed his half-empty coffee mug sitting next to the wireless mouse. He was pretty sure it had gone cold by now since he hadn’t touched it for about an hour and he was just contemplating getting up to make a fresh cup when suddenly the apartment door slammed open with enough force to bang against the wall.

A second later it slammed closed before the sounds of jingling keys and rustling clothing reached his ears. Calm as you please, Inuyasha sat back in the chair and silently watched as his girlfriend stormed by the living room, her expression positively thunderous, before disappearing down the hall and into their bedroom.

He sighed, rubbed his eyes again, and reached up to let his hair down from the bun he’d had it in all day.

Kagome had called him earlier, just after he’d gotten home from work himself, to let him know her boss had mandated her again and she’d be home late. Not a very uncommon thing, unfortunately. Her boss was a bit of a dick and it was no secret Kagome hated his guts, but the pay was good and she genuinely enjoyed her job as a social worker. She loved being able to help children in bad situations, but it came with the awful side effect of working for Naraku Morikawa. Kagome always complained about him, saying she would never understand how a man that treats his employees so poorly and yet have the gall to work with children, and if Inuyasha were honest, he’d have to agree.

She’d never leave, though, and she’d told him as much several times. Because despite having an awful boss and oftentimes long work hours, overseeing happy adoptions and tearful reunions always made it worth it.

Today, however, must have been particularly bad since she hadn’t even bothered to say anything before storming to their room. Coupled with that scowl on her face and the angry muttering his ears were picking up, Inuyasha knew his girlfriend well enough to know not to approach and let her decide what she needed to calm herself. It would be either one of two things: lock herself in the bathroom and have a long, hot soak in the bathtub, or come to him for cuddles and silent reassurance.

Minutes ticked by and when he didn’t hear any water running, Inuyasha had a good idea which one it would be so he stayed where he was, his half-formed idea for a fresh cup o’ joe already forgotten. His girl was far more important than any caffeine kick, anyway.

Only half paying attention to what his fingers were doing on the keyboard, Inuyasha got back to work, one ear trained toward the kitchen. He could hear her moving around and knew she broke out the wine by the sounds and smell of it.

Inuyasha smiled a little to himself and absently typed in a series of commands he’d long ago memorized. Must have been a truly rough day if she was using wine to help settle her nerves. He wondered if she’d explain what happened if he asked; odds were she wouldn’t, but sometimes giving voice to the whirling thoughts in her head assisted in soothing her upset, so then again, it was possible.

He heard the clinking of glass on the counter, more unintelligible muttering, and then footsteps approaching the living room. Inuyasha didn’t look away from the computer, however, when Kagome switched off the light and shuffled over to him. A brief glance revealed that she’d shed her slacks, leaving her in just her blue sweater and black boy shorts.

Not altogether unusual, however the fact that she hadn’t finished undressing before going to the wine tipped him off that something serious must have happened at work. The first thing he and Kagome both did upon returning home was immediately change into loungewear unless they planned on going somewhere, and he knew for a fact her bra was always the first thing to go. It was extremely telling that she’d only had the patience to shed her pants before going to the kitchen and now he was almost positive she wouldn’t be in a sharing mood tonight.

Kagome wasn’t looking at him, instead glaring at his chest. Wordlessly Inuyasha pushed back and opened his arms and his girl instantly crawled onto his lap, straddling his thighs as her arms snaked around his waist. She didn’t say a word as she buried her face into his chest and clung to him, taking calm, measured breaths. Inuyasha dropped a kiss to her head and took a moment to run his hand up and down her back in wordless comfort, waiting until her heart rate had returned to normal before scooting back in and stretching his arms out to continue working.

Kagome didn’t stir, content to sit there as he worked, and not for the first time Inuyasha was glad his girl was so petit to make the position possible. He never minded having to work around her, and in fact liked having her snuggled against him, her sweet scent in his nose, listening to her breathe. He was her source of comfort when her life got just a little bit too much to bear, and he’d always be there for her, no matter what.

Time passed and the only sounds in the apartment were their steady breathing and Inuyasha’s fingers clicking against the keyboard and mouse as he worked. Kagome remained still against him, showing no signs of moving, but that was fine with him. It wasn’t until she released a heavy sigh and he felt her relax completely against him that he said something, the low rumble of his voice breaking the quiet of the apartment.

“Wanna talk about it?”

With her head tucked beneath her chin, his words stirred her hair and he felt her shake her head. Inuyasha accepted her answer with another kiss to her head and didn’t press. She’d tell him later if she wanted to. For now, this was enough, and he knew that.

They sat there in silence for another few minutes, the glow from the computer the only illumination and the half-demon’s hands moving across the keyboard filling the quiet. Kagome sighed again and turned her head so her ear rested against his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart.

“Inuyasha?” His girl’s voice was barely above a whisper but he heard it anyway.

“Mm?”

“Please?”

Inuyasha paused for only a second before typing out the rest of the command. She didn’t have to elaborate. He knew what she was asking for and it was another glaring sign that her day at work had not gone well at all. Knowing that, there was no way he could refuse her, especially since it was so rare nowadays that she asked at all.

She was his girl, his beloved Kagome, and he could never deny her anything, even this.

Giving a soft sigh, Inuyasha didn’t answer and instead pressed another kiss to her head, nuzzling her hair. Idly thinking that it was a good thing he could multitask, Inuyasha took a breath and began.

“My precious one, my darling one, don’t let your lashes weep.”

Kagome sighed and allowed the deep rumble of his voice to lull her into a state of lethargy, closing her eyes. Inuyasha didn’t exactly sing the lyrics, no, but she didn’t mind. She adored the way the words fell from his lips, low with a smooth lilt that made it obvious they were lyrics, but slow enough that the cadence of the melody was entirely his own.

It was her lullaby, his promise to always protect her, and it never failed to calm the storm of her unsettled nerves, no matter what the cause happened to be.

“My cherished one, my weary one, it’s time to go to sleep.”

Safe at home and in her boyfriend’s arms, Kagome was finally able to let her mind go blank. She concentrated on his chest moving up and down as he breathed, felt the deep rumble of his voice against her ear, his breath stirring her hair, and heard the soft clicking of his claws as he continued to work. She could feel the tension leaving her body, draining out of her and for the first time in what felt like all day, a tiny smile slowly curved her mouth upward.

“Just bow your head, and give your cares to me,” Inuyasha continued, keeping his voice low, intimate. “Just close your eyes, and fall into the sweetest dream.”

Slowly, surely, Kagome’s heart rate slowed and her breathing evened out with the measured, rhythmic breaths of sleep. Her smile dimmed but didn’t disappear, serene, content.

“‘Cause in my loving arms,” Inuyasha continued, voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re safe as you will ever be.”

Kagome sighed, mumbled his name, and succumbed.

“So hush, my dear, and sleep,” he murmured into her hair, kissed her head, and sighed.

Inuyasha let her sleep and hummed the rest of the song under his breath as he finished up his work. He wasn’t surprised she fell asleep, especially since he’d sung her lullaby; Kagome always swore that his voice had healing powers since it always managed to calm her upset, but Inuyasha suspected it had more to do with the fact that her father used to sing it to her when she was a kid before he passed away.

Maybe it was a mixture of both, but whatever the case, the song had fond memories attached to it and he knew it was important to her, about as much as she was to him. So yeah, if he had to temporarily check in his manliness and sing to the woman he loved to make her feel better, then he would without question.

When he finally finished work and shut down the computer a little after nine, Kagome didn’t stir as Inuyasha stood up with her in his arms and carried her to their bedroom. He carefully laid her down, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and left to turn off the kitchen light and lock door before using the bathroom and then doubling back.

Unsurprisingly Kagome was still passed out. Shaking his head, but not without a fond smile, Inuyasha managed to take both her sweater and bra off without waking her before shedding his own clothes and crawling into bed beside her. He pulled the blankets up as Kagome rolled so she was facing him and Inuyasha pulled her close, tucking her tightly against him, his love for this woman powerful, consuming, strong enough to make him want to weep.

“Goodnight, baby,” he whispered against her temple, closing his eyes. “Sweet dreams.”

“And if you should awake I’ll kiss your soft cheek And underneath the smiling moon I’ll sing you back to sleep.”

[honestsycrets]

Afara || [Assassin!Hvitserk x Saxon Peasant!Reader]

❛ pairing | Assassin!Hvitserk x Saxon Peasant!Reader

❛ type | (?) I think I can leave it at that?

❛ summary | An assassin is killing Bjorn’s loved ones. You don’t think much of it-- because it’s royal business. Until a certain someone makes it your business.

❛  warnings | verbal arguments, assault, mention of sexual assault, sassy hvitserk, assassin!au, alternative English setting, foster son Hvitserk-foster father Harald, no actual sexual assault, kidnapping

❛ sy’s notes | listen, I don’t have an excuse for making this an Anglo Saxon family, it just is for some reason. The setting isn’t strictly Viking-- I feel like its medieval Englishy... or something. I made this for @gearhead66​ but like with all my shit made for some reason it went off in its own direction and she never asked for any of this okay??

The chinking of metal called your attention that day when soldiers soared through your slim alleyway. Their spears jabbed at the slim blue sky between the buildings, each one barking orders. Move, they kick children out of their way.  But not just children, they kicked up mud as they passed.

“What is with them?” you asked your grandmother. She wrung out wet towels into a pale, grunting.

“Up with you, woman! To the square!”

Before she could answer, a guard shoved you forward by your back. You’re suddenly thankful to be a peasant-- otherwise, this mossy coloured dress that was pulled up at the waist, would drag over the ground. Ahead of them, in the largest road in and out of your hometown of Kattegat, stomped King Bjorn. He slapped his reins and made a great show of whatever the hell it was this time with the sound of piercing trumpets.

“--if you find him, bring him to me!” Bjorn boomed, running his horse there and back, from wooden wall to wooden wall. You leaned toward the middle-aged woman by your side, an old woman who had five children and five fewer reasons to give a shit about the king’s fit. Still, if you’ve learned anything from Miss Sigyn, it is that she was attentive to the lives of the royalty if only to know how they might impact her.

“What is going on?” you asked her.

“It seems someone killed his latest whore,” Sigyn said smoothly, the lines of her lips pulled up in small creases-- clearly amused. “The same one that killed his mother.”

“And Queen Gunnhild? Gods, has she...” you gasped. Everyone knew of her latest loss-- her first child, dead, set to the cold rock.

“No,” Sigyn folded her arms over her well-endowed chest. “Queen Gunnhild is unharmed. Isn’t it magnificent?”

“Find me that dog!”

Bjorn set off again. You readjusted your hold on the basket, flexed your fingers around the rim. Sigyn leaned into you, her dirty hands at her mouth. You leaned into her ginger hair, “He’s not been caught?”

“Rumor has it he’s under Harald’s wing.”

“Harald? I thought he was gone.” Her eyebrows lifted up her forehead, wrinkling her dusty skin of that very fact. You held her look a moment before you rolled your lower lip into your mouth. She takes your other arm and turned back toward the long alleyway you came from. The others, who had been there longer, turned their sights toward home.

“No, he’s King Harald’s foster son, his afara. After what happened to Lagertha, well…” you motioned your hand down to motion silence. Guards passed by. Their metal heads might look unassuming, but you knew better than that. As did she. Though, as an older woman, perhaps she was less fearful of consequences than you were.

“Grandmother wanted to see you about some fish baked in clay.” You shrugged off talk of the man, the king, the trials of the rich. They had their own issues. Ones that didn’t include the public, and even if you rathered Bjorn’s rule over Ivar’s, Bjorn was never a man who you thought was worth your time.

“With sourdough?”

You nodded and that was enough to sell her. She stopped in front of your grandmother’s house. The old woman was gone from outside. Inside, you could hear her cooking away. “I’ll bring the boys over with griddle cakes just for you.”

You motioned to the throwaway scraps in your basket, next to the curd cheese and honey pastries-- the last inklings of a sweet harvest. Not for the pigs, but for you. “I’ll hurry to feed the animals and be back in time for dinner.”

After seeing her off, you made your way out of the alleyway. Not so far away was the small shed where your animals were kept and raised. Though your boots sunk in the grass, you were in a good mood. There was a feast to be had. The harvest had gone well. Queen Gunnhild lived while her rival-- that wretched Ingrid-- was dead.

The shed was particularly quiet. The only sounds were the occasional snort of the pigs, bunched up by the stick fence. “Come’n Fattie,” you padded around the side of the fence, calling out to the fattest of the bunch. Usually, he’d snort and rush you for your scraps. As you sat down the food in their vat, they did not rush to it.

They stood in the opposite corner like the bunch of frightened animals that they were. You stared a moment longer before inwardly losing an aggravated sigh. “You’ll make me get in there, will you?”

You plucked the bobbin to the gate and made your way into their pin. It was clean. Your brother made sure to clean it that morning before he made the trip with your father to Hedeby which would be long given the distance. In their absence, you would do what your grandmother couldn’t-- defend the house, take care of the animals, all those long and hard things. The fish was on your mind, roasted in clay, flesh plump and juicy, crispy and waiting. Your grandmother’s sourdough bread too! Along with ale to wash it all down. All those things were waiting, but here you were, fighting with some stupid pigs to eat and go inside their shed.

“If you aren’t going to eat,” you stomped back to the doors and opened them for the pigs to go in. If not pig food, you told yourself, you would sacrifice one of your beloved cheese and honey pastries for these stupid pigs. “Then go inside.”

But what were your pigs but stubborn assholes? They remained there, unmoving. You settled your hand over your hips, then flicked them up again, stomping inside. “There is nothing inside the damn shed!”

The next thing you remembered, your head connected with the dusty floor of the shed. A stabbing pain spiked through your skull, enveloped by that horrible feeling of your head bouncing over the ground. It was dark-- and not of your own actions. Something was dragging you by your ankle. But you weren’t sure what.

“Quiet,” the detached voice said. A man, it was a man that was dragging you off, and so you did the one thing that you could think of. You shrilled. Only a brief moment passed before you felt it. Cool metal against your neck snuffed out that short-lived cry, but not because he had slit the skin apart, only that your fear cemented you there. Your father, your brother, both had taught you how to fight-- and somehow you were cemented in place despite the fact that your knife was strapped to your thigh.

“I don’t like to kill pretty things. So shut up!” He warned, with the voice that said he would, if only he had to. His hand pressed on your throat alongside the knife, snuffing out the noise. The man between your legs was willowy. His shape, although you could not see him, reflected as much. Your hands connected with his back, skidding off of expensive armour. “Are you going to hush?”

You nodded. His knife fell away-- and instead, it ripped up your dress.

“Please don’t-- please don’t--”

“Shut up,” he hissed, throwing away your knife. It collides into a pile with a clink, indicating that perhaps, the man had more. “I’m not going to rape you. I’m not in the mood even if you were worth it. Sit up.”

He forced you onto your knees. You complied, allowing him to take your arms behind your back. The rope was scratchy against your wrists. “I don’t have money. And my father is off in Hedeby, so you won’t get anything from this.”

“Don’t need to,” he says, pacing away from you. With a scratch, he lights the candles that were left for ‘emergency’ purposes. Ones that were expensive, as candles were, and could not easily be replaced. As everything comes into focus, you can make out your attacker. And when he said he didn’t need to, he meant it.

“Prince Hvitserk?”

“Somethin’ I haven’t head in a while,” he stands away from you, kneeled before one of your slaughtered pigs, one that he somehow cooked. His eyes move over your body, knelt before him, like any thrall. The thought scratches across your mind, before you flush in embarrassment, and look down.  “What’s your name?”

Your head drops back because you can't believe it, because just moments before you spoke of Harald’s Dog. You pull at your hands behind your back. It’s tight. He kicks the carcass away, snapping back to you, then kneeling down, playfully pops your cheek. Maybe if you stayed quiet enough-- he would drop it in his boredom. He hasn’t proven especially patient, after all.

“No? Okay. I got it anyway. Your father’s a farmer. You got a grandmother and a brother.”

“How did you…” a long sigh slips out his mouth, following your name. He flicks his knife around. “We can play games, but I’ll have to kill one of the boys when he comes looking for you. It’s not personal, of course. Just… business.”

“Your father’s business?” He laughed, plopped back on his ass, and brought his hands around to grasp his leather boots, and leaned forward. There’s a long, open gash on his cheek. He looks like a man that has seen better days, as tired as he was. But he was right. In time, Sigyn would send someone to come gather you. Her mother--  “What do you need from me?”

“Need to fuck off outta town,” he jerked his thumb to the side. “You’re a good cover. A man and his wife going to Hedeby for the festivities. I’ll drop you off with your father, of course. I’m a stand-up man.”

“Stand up men don’t slit women’s throats in bed at night.”  You had no doubt the sort of awful man this one was. Who crawled into an innocent person’s barn only to slaughter their pigs and-- oooH! Now he was eating your dessert like he’d never had something so good, or at least in a long time. “That’s mine! “You could at least not eat my pastry.”

“You made it? It’s good. You’re a keeper.” He laughed and threw up a dirty hand, speaking between bites of your sweet honey and cream cheese pastry plainly. “But if you prefer murder… that can be arranged too.”

“No!” you hissed at him. “I’ll go with you!”

“That’s what I thought.”

He was a special kind of asshole. But then, what prince wasn’t? Certainly not Harald’s assassin, who climbed into your shed, and took your sweets.

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